You Can Take the Girl Outta the City
by Selah25
Summary: CSI Las Vegas gets a new team member.  Current Season.  Transfer approved, Ange Flack leaves her mentor Det. Mac Taylor and brother, Det. Don Flack behind in NY.  Can she leave her past behind?  Or will it follow her to Vegas?
1. Bled

Chapter 1- Bled

She ironed her grey pinstriped slacks with the palms of her sweaty hands. Tucking a strand of her dark, curly hair behind her ear, she pushed on the large glass doors of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Thinking that it wasn't this hot back in New York, she exhaled and welcomed the refreshing air conditioning circulating around the bright, yet monotone lobby. Walking up to the front desk, she made her presence known, thanking Pam, and found herself walking down the long hallway to her new supervisor's office. A plaque, inscribed with Gil Grissom adorned the already open glass door. Walking in, she noticed that she wasn't alone; various insects, a fetal pig, and framed butterflies were cluttered along the shelves. Her supervisor, however, was nowhere to be found. Taking in the odd sights that lined his shelves, she remembered what Mac had told her about this Grissom. He sure does love his insects, she marveled, as she reached for a small jar, its contents stared her in the face. Startling her, she heard his voice, a bit gruff, asking her if she fancied the insect world.

"Actually," she replaced the jar of an embryonic pig, "I have a nervous habit of swattin' anything that flies."

Grissom smiled, taking in his newest CSI. She was younger than most, her olive complexion glowed from the heat, her curls bounced as she talked with her hands. Offering her a seat, he heard her rattle on about stomping on things that happened to crawl as well, causing him to furrow his brow as he tilted his head.

"That's a habit you'll find you need to overcome," he voiced in all seriousness.

"When the evidence is scarce, we turn to the insect world to assist us."

"Last case I worked on," she said with confidence, "we used a hissing cockroach to seal the deal. Perp got 25 ta' life."

"Gromphadorhina portentosa," he smiled, "rare for that area."

Ange laughed. The only thing that was rare for N.Y. was the hissing. Cockroaches have been taking up residence since her family emigrated over from Italy. She noticed that he was perusing a file. Scanning it a bit closer, she spotted her name.

"You've come highly recommended," he congratulated her, "your previous supervisor had nothing but high regards for you."

Ange nodded. Detective Mac Taylor had taken her under his wing when she graduated from Johns Hopkins with a degree in Forensics, minor in Psychology, and as she worked, she earned her masters, taking classes online after a grueling shift. She was the surrogate daughter he never had. Losing his wife was devastating and having Ange around brought Mac justice and the serenity, he needed to get through his cases. Her brother, the only family that remained, was Detective Don Flack, who unified the NY CSI team. She left New York as a CSI 3, after life in the city grew cold and as her need for independence grew hot. She was the youngest of her previous team, highly driven, with a strong head on her shoulders, and a solid stomach. Her main concern for leaving was presented in that file, she knew, but Grissom was professional. If he found cause for concern, he didn't show it. This allowed her to relax her shoulders a bit.

"Due to the transfer," he closed her file, "we'll start you as a CSI 2."

"With the option to advance," she smiled, "of course."

"Prove to me that you can hack it here in Vegas," he nodded, "and you'll be lead CSI soon enough."

"Great, when do I start?"

"We've got a few things to take care of," he took out a syringe and asked her for a sample.

"I heard about this," she chuckled, "I'll give ya a sample, if ya promise I get to watch in when ya use it."

Grissom smiled as he heard her thick New York accent ravish her words. The team's going to enjoy this.

"Blood splatter samples," he pulled back on the syringe, her crimson platelets filling up to the brim.

"Let's introduce you to the rest of the team," he ushered her out of the office down to the break room.

Leading her down the brackish hallway, he opened the door to the break room and the first thing she noticed was the freshly brewed pot of coffee calling out her name. Friendly chatter and laughter greeted them as they entered, a woman, a bit older than Ange, stopped to acknowledge their presence. As quickly as she acknowledged them, she reverted to her previous discussion. Heated as it was, Ange noticed the man she was talking with. He was an attractive man, with dark skin, and the most alluring green eyes she had ever seen. Heading over towards the coffee, she poured herself a cup, poured in two creamers and three sugars. Sipping the thick brew, she stood next to Grissom as he introduced his team. Pointing as he spoke, he introduced Catherine Willows, an older woman, with strawberry blonde hair, who didn't look a day over 35.

"Welcome aboard," she sauntered over to shake Ange's hand.

Thanking her, Gil turned towards a Sara Sidle, the younger woman Ange had noticed earlier. Giving Ange a chilly greeting, she picked up a newspaper that must have been more interesting than this new addition. Introducing Warrick Brown, the attractive man with green eyes, he welcomed her to Las Vegas. Noticing her accent, he asked her if she was a fan of the Mets.

"Please," she scoffed, "I bleed pinstripes," referencing her attachment to the Yankees.

Grissom looked at the blood sample he was toting around. Questioning Catherine, she playfully told him that she was referring to a baseball team's uniform. Shaking his head, Grissom would never understand the fanatics of sports. He was after all, a bug man.

Last to be introduced was Nick Stokes, dark haired and beautiful, were the words that popped into her mind. Trouble, she scolded herself, as she shook hands. She noticed his grip was firm but gentle, his smile was warm, and his southern drawl hung off his words.

"Nice to meet you," he smiled.

Feeling herself blush, she fought it off, sipping her coffee.

"Seems I'm not the only one who relocated," she nodded towards Nick, "Texas?"

"She's good, Grissom," he laughed, "real good."

Grissom tilted his head towards Ange, questioning her on how she knew he originated from Texas. Ange simply smiled and echoed Nick's words.

"You heard him," she pointed towards Nick, "I'm good."

As the rest of the team laughed, even Sara threw down the paper and joined in; Grissom handed out their assignments for the evening.

"Sara," he handed her a slip of paper, "you and Cath are working a double homicide down Rt.66."

"Looks like someone got their kicks…," Sara noted as Catherine finished off her sentiments.

"On Route 66."

"Nick, Warrick," he handed them their assignment, "you take Ange here and head out to McCarran International Airport. Seems the luggage wasn't the only thing circulating as passengers waited to pick up their bags."

"The airport?" Ange exasperated, "I've already seen the airport!"

As they exited the break room, Sara let the door go as Ange came up behind her. Catching it with her foot, she bit her tongue, and walked out with finesse. Warrick had to stop at the locker room to change. As they walked in, Ange asked Nick a question that was burning since Sara let the door go.

"Is Sara always so friendly?"

Warrick rolled his eyes and allowed Nick to answer. She's bit of a control freak, Nick offered.

"She's been the only other female besides Cath," he went on.

"This territory is marked," Warrick laughed.

"Just don't get on her bad side," he slammed his locker shut.

Sensing that he and Sara had a history, she didn't pester them for more information. Changing the subject, she noticed that they each had their own personalized locker. Asking when she got her official locker, Nick laughed. It's just a piece of tape, he touched his. He never noticed how old and worn it had gotten over the years. After he solved his first case, he came into the locker room and noticed someone had tagged a locker with his name. Warrick told him it was their tradition. Same thing happened to him after he solved his first. Warrick holstered his gun as he questioned why she wanted a piece of tape with her name on it so badly.

"It'll make it feel more permanent," she shrugged, "if I had my own."

"Then let's get going," Nick holstered his gun, "we got a case to solve and a locker to be tagged."


	2. Baggage Claim

Chapter 2- Baggage Claim

As they drove to the airport, in Nick's black SUV, they made small chit chat to tie them over until they arrived at the crime scene. She liked these two already. Ange easily fit in wherever it was she assigned. She fit in well with all types of people, mostly men. That was her brother's doing. He raised her after their parents died which meant Ange was her brother's shadow. He turned to law enforcement, and it wasn't any surprise, she headed off into a similar field.

"Why the transfer?" Warrick casually asked, looking back to Ange who was seated in the back, her hand on her kit.

"Grew tired of the _city that never sleeps_," she was vague, although, not sleeping was something she was too familiar with as of late.

"So what you're sayin' is," Nick looked at her through the rearview, "you left the Big Apple, for our Sin City?"

"Yeah," she curtly replied, never taking her eyes off that mirror, "that's exactly what I'm sayin'."

She thought she saw a bit of sadness in his eyes, or was it pity, she could rarely tell the difference anymore. Apologizing for coming off brash, she asked why he left Texas. Obviously, killing the mood was Ange's forte. Nick turned his gaze to the highway and his tone was anything but warm

"Bigger's not always better," he sighed, and yes, the pun was intended, as he looked to Warrick.

Warrick brought laughter back to the team as Nick pulled into the terminal at the airport. Ange stepped out of the vehicle, her kit in hand, as she followed Nick and Warrick to the baggage claim in portal B7. Police had already sealed off the perimeter with yellow crime tape, and a portly man made his way over to the crew. Warrick introduced Ange to Captain Jim Brass, who welcomed her to Vegas as he laid out the preliminaries.

"Flight from Vancouver, landed at 6:15. All 28 passengers accounted for. Female, 23, found amid the luggage on the conveyor belt, as the baggage was being loaded off the plane."

"So our perp was on that flight," Ange remarked, noticing the various passengers, pilot, and flight attendants impatiently seated in the airport.

"All in all, 31 suspects to interrogate," Brass scanned the crowd, "which I'll get started on."

"COD?" Nick asked as they made their way to the body.

"M.E.'s already checked her out," Brass looked to his notepad, "ligature marks suggest strangulation."

As Ange donned a pair of latex gloves, she watched as Nick began to photograph and document the luggage carousel. Tiny yellow markers began to surround various areas, numbering possible fragments of evidence. Warrick and Ange took the body. Using her infrared torch, she glided the light over the body. Horrible way to end a flight, she remarked as she stopped over the deceased's fingernails. Reaching for her tweezers, she lifted a blue fiber from a tear in the woman's nail.

"Got something," she alerted Warrick, who handed her a small manila evidence envelope.

"Looks like she could've torn this from the perp," she wrapped it in a wedge of cloth and shoved it down into the envelope.

"Obvious signs of a struggle," Warrick commented, photographing the victim's torn clothes, cracked nails, and a slight abrasion on her chin.

Finishing up with the victim, Ange and Warrick had gathered fingernail scrapings, various fibers, and a stray hair. Ange couldn't get the image of those marks on the victim's neck out of her head as they drove back to the crime lab to start on the evidence.

"I've seen that pattern before," she insisted as they drove back, discussing their case.

"Give it time," Nick prepped her, "it'll come to you."

"In the meantime, we have a lot to process," Warrick added, "not to mention interviews."

Back in the lab, Ange met the technician that replaced Greg Sanders, who was now a CSI on a case with Grissom. She was a wiry girl, her hair a mess, as she took the fingernail scrapings from Warrick and left in a hurry to run them through rigorous amounts of tests. Hopefully, a run through CODIS would give them a head's up on the perp's DNA. Ange gave the fiber she found on the victim, along with the stray hair to Nick who specializes in hair and fibers analysis. She was left to examine the ligature marks, which meant she had a meeting with Doc Robbins, chief medical examiner. She left Warrick who was making his way back to the airport to assist Brass with the interrogations. Until they had something solid to go on, it was going to be a long night.


	3. XYZ

Chapter 3-XYZ

Entering the morgue, she found Doc Robbins, as she heard he was called, listening to some rock and roll as he examined the deceased. Watching the doctor as he spoke into the over hanging microphone, she heard him declare the cause of death, strangulation, just as they had suspected. She made her way over to the C.M.E. and introduced herself.

"Ange Flack," she said with modesty, "whatcha' got for me?"

"Right to the point," he chuckled, "I like you already."

"Carlie Rose, 23, fought for her life."

"Any signs of a rape," Ange asked, only to be denied.

"Our girl here was a virgin."

"I didn't know those still existed in Las Vegas," she remarked.

"Our girl's not from here," he handed her a license.

"Vancouver," she examined the license, "so she was visiting."

"What about those markings around her neck," Ange asked, "I was studying the pictures we took, and they are so familiar to me."

"Got you stumped, do they?"

Just as he said that, Nick walked in and the Doctor addressed him.

"Stokes," he pointed, "XYZ."

Turning a shade of red, Nick's hands fell to his zipper on his jeans and he circled away from the spectators.

"XYZ?" she asked, wondering just what had taken place between these two men.

"Abbreviation," Nick turned back around, shaking his head at the doctor.

"Examine your zipper," he walked over to Ange and Doc Robbins, "nice one, Doc."

"That's it!" exclaimed Ange as she looked closer at Carlie's throat.

"Striation is similar to a pant's zipper tracking."

"Well, I'll be," the doctor threw up his hands, "those marks had me stumped."

"We've got a good eye here Nick," he patted Ange on the back.

"Strangled with a pair of pants?" Nick looked at Ange.

"Looks like we have some luggage to go through."

"First, let's see if my fiber analysis is finished," Nick ushered her out.

"Thanks Doc!" Ange called over her shoulder.

As they walked back upstairs to Nick's lab, they discussed their latest finds. Nick called Warrick on his cell to tell him they found what caused the Vic's death. Nick listened as Warrick congratulated them and pressured them to speed up the fiber analysis.

"Yeah, man," Nick laughed, "what else you want from us?"


	4. Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Chapter 4-Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Ange and Nick waited impatiently as the blue fiber she found on the victim circulated through the vortexer. Ange flipped through the photographs from the scene and noticed some of the luggage Nick photographed. Pointing out a set of baggage, she called Nick over.

"Was this bag opened when ya found it?" She pointed to a black carry on, it's contents caught in the zipper.

"Yeah, along with another one," he pointed to another picture, "why do you ask?"

"Well, if the perp's smart," she rolled her eyes, "he wouldn't use his own pants."

"But he would reach for whatever was readily available," Nick agreed.

A beeping was coming from the vortexer as they made their way over. As the centrifuge slowly came to a stop, Nick pressed the analysis button and retrieved the results from their testing. Holding up the paper, Nick read the results a loud.

"Gossypium, indigofera, hydrogen dioxide."

"Denim," Ange translated, "our vic was strangled with a pair of jeans."

"Levi's, to be exact," Nick pulled out another test result.

Cynthia, the lab technician, ran in with their DNA results. Handing them her hit off CODIS, that stray hair they found on the vic belongs to a male, late 30s. You got that off a hair, Ange asked her incredulously.

"Nah," she shrugged, "but I got a hit off AFIS, our perp's fingerprints were in the system."

"I'll call Warrick and have him dust for prints on those two pieces of luggage. With any luck, our jeans will be in one of those bags."

"Along with the perp's prints."

"Trent Denton," Nick read, "robbery, simple assault, aggravated assault."

"Guy's got anotha' one to add to his list."

"Now all we need to do is find those jeans and we can tie him to the murder."

"I'll drive," Nick offered, as they made their way to the parking lot.

"I'll call Brass and have him detain Denton."

Ange was excited, but mostly proud. Her skills in identifying ligature markings were a rare talent among CSIs, but the most interesting part of her shifts wasn't solving the case; it was sitting in with the perpetrator, eye to eye, where she got the satisfaction of sending them off in cuffs. Here, in the small, bleak, interrogation room, she was sitting next to Brass and Nick, with Warrick watching from behind the two-way mirror. The evidence was enough to send Denton to prison, but she needed to know more. She needed the _why_; she always needed the _why_. It was her character flaw. Her background in Psychology led her to empathize with the suspects in her cases, always, for a brief moment, forgetting that evidence outsmarts humanity. In forensics you rarely focused on the _why_, the motive, you left that up to the evidence and once it led you to the _who_, _where, and when, _it always ended with the _how. _They worked backwards in this field. Starting with something simple like a piece of fiber from a pair of jeans to studying the marks left with a zipper when they are used to strangle an innocent victim. Brass called her attention back to the suspect.

"Why'd you do it," he smugly asked, "did she take the last of the peanuts?"

Denton just smiled, coyly looking from Ange to Brass again, his eyes lingered on Ange as she spoke.

"Hey buddy," Ange slapped her hand on the table, "answer the question."

"She's feisty," Denton laughed.

"Is that it," Brass changed his tactics, "you like 'em young and feisty, put up a betta' fight?"

Denton licked his lips as he stared at Ange, grunting an inaudible yes.

"Should have seen the way she was looking at me," he persisted, "like this broad here."

Nick watched as their suspect ogled Ange from across the table, disapproving of the way he spoke to her. Nick's chair screeched across the cold floor as he leaned across the table.

"Careful," he threatened him, "my money's on her."

"And my money's on the evidence," Ange coolly stated, throwing down their findings in Denton's face.

"Flight attendants were usherin' yous off the plane," she began, "our Carlie, that's the woman's name ya murdered," she threw the M.E.'s photo of Carlie on the table, "was off to visit family when ya began followin' her."

"That look she gave ya," Ange shifted her eyes to meet his, "was of disgust."

"Loathing," Nick chimed in.

"Apprehension set in," Brass threw in his two cents.

"Which turned ya on," she continued, "made the chase more excitin'."

"You ducked behind the luggage depot hiding in wait," Nick added, showing him an enlarged picture where Denton left his prints on the steel siding.

"Yeah, that I did," Denton pursed his lips.

"Then I saw her comin', grabbed her from behind, and she enjoyed every minute of it."

He rattled on about how they wrestled amongst the passengers' luggage and that she was putting up a rather adrenaline pumping rush. He mentioned how he couldn't get his pants down, something about a faulty zipper, which caused alarm in Ange.

"So you couldn't get ya zipper down," she sat back, "so ya got angry at her, at ya'self."

"Yeah, that's right!" he shouted, his cuffed hands recoiled off the table.

He concluded that he grabbed in the nearest bag and pulled out a pair of dungarees, using them to choke the 'spit out of her'. Then he added something off color about choking off something else and that's when Brass ordered him to be taken out by the two officers. Nick looked back at Ange who was still seated at the table; Brass had long gone, congratulating them on a job well done.

"Hey," he called in, "you can't sit there all night."

Warrick walked by the door and added that they had breakfast to catch and a locker to tag. Ange slowly rose and closed the manila folder with Carlie Rose's name on it. Another case solved and another innocent woman taken advantage of by someone who used transference of anger. She felt dirty, as she always did after working a heinous crime. She told the guys that she needed a shower first and then she'd be ready to go.

"Shower when you get home," Warrick joked, "we're starving and Grissom's paying."

Instead of following them to the break room, she walked past them to the locker room, ignoring Warrick's attempt to bargain.

"Or not," Warrick shrugged his shoulders at Nick who meandered his way to the break room waiting for Ange to shower the filth of the case off her body. If only they knew, the hot water she used to sear off the memories burned them into her soul.


	5. Passing of the Torch

Chapter 5- Passing the Torch

Ange emerged from the shower, wrapped in a towel she grabbed from her locker. She had to do a double take when she arrived in the locker room; a piece of masking tape was stretched across the locker, with _Andrea Flack_ printed in black marker. The fellas were right, she thought to herself, I wonder who's the mystery tagger? Pegging some poorly paid janitor as the culprit, she began to dress in a pair of worn jeans and a ¾ sleeve navy blue shirt, which fit her body well. She zipped up her brown leather boots, a low heel, for she was a slender 5'8 without the assistance and tossed her hair into a loose ponytail. Random curls graced her face as she threw on some moisturizer and slammed her locker shut. Glancing up, she saw Nick approach.

"You always have to shower right after a case?" he attempted to make small talk.

Ange didn't answer right away and he assumed it was too personal of a question.

"Nah, not personal," she apologized, "I just have a hard time shakin' a case."

"How so?"

"I forget that the evidence wins out over humanity each time," she frowned.

"People are my weakness," she offered, "even when they don't deserve the benefit of doubt."

He listened to her as she explained how she started a case, following the evidence, always hoping it'd lead her down a path unfamiliar. Instead, cases were solved, or left cold, and the humanity of the victims, the essence that made them who they were, was written off. What was worse, with the perpetrators, there wasn't a lick of humanity in any of them. She saw it all; abusive stepfathers, pedophiles, wife batterers, serial killers. They all started out innocent, until something terrible happened to them, or they were predisposed from faulty genetics. Nature verse nurture, she scoffed, it's a double edged sword.

"Which is why we stick to the evidence," Nick offered.

"No room for judgment."

"No room for empathy."

Silencing Nick, she lifted her bag and headed off towards the exit. Glancing back, she saw that he was still standing where she left him, his eyes on the floor. She turned on her heel and went back over to him. Hoping to ease the tension, she spoke lightly.

"So, does Grissom really pay for breakfast?"

"Always," Nick's smile returned, "let's see what the blue plate special is."

Together, they walked out towards the break room where the rest of the team were patiently waiting. Grissom congratulated Ange on her successful first day and introduced her to Greg. Greg Sanders, she had learned, was the newest CSI to join them, after doing their grunt work for years in the labs. The guys warned her that he was a 'Casanova'. Nick joked with her, he has a thing for attractive women. Warrick gave Nick a look and he changed his statement to 'all women'. Greg who was younger than Ange, swaggered over to her and put out a firm hand.

"Hi'ya Greg," she smiled as she shook his hand. "I see attractiveness is a prerequisite for the job here."

Greg's cheeks turned a bright shade of red as they all laughed. He turned to Nick and mouthed _oh my God_ as he still hung on to Ange's hand.

"Aww poor Greg," Sara playfully tugged at Greg's hand so he would let go.

"Ladies, ladies," Greg managed to get his voice back, "there's plenty of me to go around."

Grissom cleared his throat like an authoritative father and the room quieted. Tilting his head towards the door, he raised his hands in desperation.

"Time's of the essence."

"Right, Gil," Catherine made her way towards the door, "early bird and all."

Holding the door open for Ange, Warrick offered her a ride. He subtly asked her if she liked her new locker and she stopped at his SUV with her hand on the door.

"That was you?" she scrunched her nose, which he found oddly endearing.

"Call it a 'passing of the torch'," he unlocked the doors with a key remote.

"Nicky boy tagged mine, Catherine tagged his," he trailed off.

Feeling relieved she was now part of a team again; she hopped into his SUV and clicked her seatbelt in place. Grateful that she would be getting a tour of downtown Vegas, suburbia in its entire normalcy, Warrick and Ange discussed various topics, from music, to sports, to the racetrack. She asked Warrick if he could drive by her new place afterwards. Digging in her bag, she pulled out a slip of paper. Reading off the address of her apartment, Warrick let out a slow whistle.

"Fancy digs," he commented.

Ange had no idea what area or what the apartment complex was like. She left all that up to Mac who 'knew a guy who knew a guy' in Vegas. Actually, she told Warrick, I had no idea where I was going or what I'd be doing out here.

"The transfer was a spur of the moment type of thing," she looked out her window.

"I know all about that," Warrick vaguely let the discussion die down.

They pulled into the diner and she followed Warrick to the 'usual spot' as he referred to it and what was waiting for her was a surprise like no other. A slice of cheesecake with a candle protruding from its center was placed at her seat. Catherine lit the candle and they all welcomed her to the team. Blowing out the candle, she took a bite of the cheesecake.

"A little bit'a home," she smiled, "yous really know how to make a girl feel special."


	6. Day Off

Chapter 6-Day Off

It was a few weeks after her first case when Ange stumbled upon her first scene with Greg and Nick. She'd been working on various cases, rotating every other shift following either Catherine's lead or Warrick's. She enjoyed working with Catherine and Warrick; they both had a no nonsense way about how they handled a scene. She worked a few sparse cases with Grissom and Sara and concluded that something was odd about those two; they finished each other's thoughts, which drove Ange mad. Grissom, nor Sara, welcomed Ange's sense of humor. They were too serious for their own good, she thought. That's why she welcomed a case with Greg and Nick. They shared a favorable rapport with one another, usually bantering amongst one another as they scraped up evidence.

Ange wasn't scheduled this Friday and as she still made adjustments to her new apartment, she had plenty of boxes to go through. Her 'living area' wasn't anything of the sorts. She literally hopped over a few boxes to make her way from one end to the other. As she tripped over a box, its contents spilled onto her carpeted floor.

"That's where Donnie packed my damn pots," she cursed as she massaged her stubbed toe.

Her cell could be heard stifled under a large body pillow on her bed as she limped towards her room in a hurry.

"Flack," she said into the cell. She couldn't remember the last time she answered with a simple 'hello'.

It was Captain Jim Brass, apologizing for calling her on her day off, but Sidle was taking a 'sick day' and they were down one CSI for the night. Greg and Nick were already at the scene awaiting her arrival. Brass filled her in on the stats as she threw off her sweatpants and changed into a pair of grey dress pants, a white button down, and as she shoved her feet into her brown boots, she relayed the facts back to Brass to make sure she got them right.

"Male, 19, gunshot wound, found in the park along Briar and Everwood."

"Tell the fellas I'll be there in ten."

Hanging up, she went to the hallway, opened a drawer in her oak curio, and holstered her gun. Making sure she left the small light in her entrance on, she locked up and got into her Grey SUV and headed out towards the highway taking the third exit, which would lead her straight to the park. She frequented the parks in the area, which were nothing like Central Park back home, and left 'something' to be desired. Mentally crossing out this park on her list, she slowed her vehicle and parked behind Nick's. Taking her kit out of the trunk, she pocketed her keys and eyed her surroundings. It was just about dusk, the air was thick and humid, as it had been the past few evenings. The area was too quiet, for her liking, causing a chill to slide down her spine. The park was fairly lit, a playground equipped with a slide and swings to her right, and to her left was a basketball court. She saw Nick immediately standing over what she presumed was the victim, prostrated under the metal hoop.

"Hey Nick," she knelt down opening her kit and threw on a pair of gloves.

"Long time no see," he smiled at her as she waited for instructions.

"Where do ya want me?" she asked, blushing as she 'heard' what she said.

"How about you start photographing the body," he laughed.

"Sure thing," she removed the lens cover and inserted a fresh memory card.

She began to take snapshots of the victim. Zooming in on his face, she snapped a picture, then another, as she angled her camera.

"Execution style," she spoke to no one in particular as she snapped more shots.

She took about five shots per the length of his body, noticing his right hand was coiled tightly into a fist. Standing up to get a better angle, she caught Nick in the lens and froze.

"Nick," she lowered the camera, "check his right hand."

Sure enough, as he pried the boy's hand open, a small corner of what looked to be money was resting in his hand. Examining it as he pulled it out with his tweezers, Nick looked up to Ange and raised his eyebrows.

"Who brings cash to a park?"

Ange scanned the boys' clothes. He was wearing tear away pants, a size 14 Adidas, and a t-shirt. She would have guessed he was meeting a prostitute if it wasn't for what he was wearing.

"Looks like a game of one on one went horribly wrong," she took the last of her shots.

Greg came rushing over with the evidence he had gathered along the perimeter. Footprints leading from the trail to the court were tagged and photographed. Using rubber cement, Greg took an impression of what looked like a size 11 men's, which were found just outside the bushes.

"Perp was waiting for our guy over there," he suggested, "maybe."

"Definitely," Nick pointed to a smudge of a footprint next to the body.

"I bet that'll match up with what you found."

"You got that on film," he asked Ange, who nodded a 'yes'.

Calling over to Brass, Nick told him that they had their evidence collected and the M.E. could transport the body back to Doc Robbins. Packing away the camera, Ange asked Greg if he found anything else substantial.

"You mean like the missing piece of that bill?" He gushed.

"No," he noticed she looked hopeful, "but I did find a stubbed out cigarette next to the print in the bushes."

"That'a boy Sanders," Nick clapped him on the shoulders.

"DNA," Ange smiled, "of our possible witness."

"You mean suspect," Greg corrected her.

"Same thing G," she waved him off, "see you two back at the crime lab."

Nick watched as she made her way to her SUV, wondering when the last time it was that they worked on a case together. She'd been working with Warrick most of the time, and while he respected his main man, he felt a bit jealous that he'd been stuck with Greg while Warrick got to spend his cases with Ange.

"You got something in your eye Nick?" Greg laughed as he snapped back to attention.

Honking her horn, she waved at the fellas and Nick hefted his kit and began to walk towards his own vehicle. As Greg seated himself in the passenger seat of Nick's SUV, he chuckled. It was so apparent to him that their newest member of the team intrigued Nick. It made it even more amusing when Nick told him to shut up and reiterate their findings as they drove back to the lab. _Defensive_, Greg thought to himself, _Nicky boy's got a crush._

"Yes sir," Greg mocked a salute, "right away, sir."


	7. Miscommunication

Chapter 7-Miscommunication

Nick found Ange working in the lab, running diagnostics on the piece of money found in the victim's hand. She had already dissected a small piece of the evidence, laced it with a chemical to seal its immediate state, placed it into a cylinder, and watched it spin around in the centrifuge where it could take an hour to two, depending on what she was searching for. In this case, she was searching for anything foreign on the bill; DNA, transfer, something to lead them in the right direction.

"Running tests on that bill we found?" Nick asked, opening a small envelope.

"We?" She joked, pointing to the piece of evidence he was working on.

"Found trace evidence on the victim's forehead," he threw it under the microscope.

"Think it came from the gun?" She inquired, watching as he meticulously worked at his station.

"Won't know until we have something to compare it to," he replied.

"Greg's workin' on that cigarette he found," he looked up to find Ange staring.

Saving her the embarrassment, her cell went off, a familiar number blinked on its screen. She hated taking calls on the job, but she put a finger up to silence Nick, mouthed an apology, and stepped outside into the hallway.

"Flack," she breathed into her cell, "this better be important."

Her brother greeted her in the same, nonsensical manner, asking her if that was anyway to speak to her 'olda brotha' and all. Laughing, she told him that she was in the middle of a case and asked how things were going back in New York. Damn Yanks, he prattled on, up three in the seventh, only for them bastards to lose it all to a grand slam off Ramirez. Leave it to Donnie, she laughed to herself, to keep her apprised of her beloved baseball team. He did this often, calling her with random stats, weather reports, or some case he caught with the CSI team. Other times, he would call her up to throw her a few facts about his case, hoping her unbiased approach would help him think more clearly. More often than not, however, he called to check in on her, make sure things were on the 'up an'up' as he liked to put it. Assuring him that things were okay on her end, she asked how Mac was doing.

"Been playin' phone tag," she rushed, "can't seem to catch a good day."

"He ain't ignorin' ya," her brother reassured her, "just keepin' ya on ya toes."

"My ass," her voice dripped with sarcasm, "listen, Donnie, I gotta go."

Nick opened the door to the lab, calling her back. The results were in on the bill she found. Her brother could sense the urgency in her tone and let her off the phone, but not without saying he was proud of her, 'not a day goes by' he rattled on. Before he got caught up in the same old story of how she's grown into such a fine young woman, thanks to him, of course, she shut him up.

"Yeah, yeah, I love ya too," she gushed as she clicked her phone closed.

This wasn't the first time Nick had heard her talking to someone on the phone, someone close, he reckoned, by the way she talked, how happy she was, how her blue eyes sparkled when she was laughing. Wondering who she was talking to, who she loved, made him quake.

"That your boy again," he joked, half hoping she'd deny it, but always knowing what was coming next.

"That's ma'boy," she smiled, and asked him what they got.

"Results?"

"Right, the results. The bill contained traces of nicotine, menthol, peppermint, a small trace of perfume and random polymers."

"Did someone say 'menthol'?" Greg walked in, a file on hand, waving it in the air.

"Tell us you got a hit off that cigarette butt."

"Would you expect anything less?" Greg grinned, his Cheshire cat like smile.

"What we expect are the results."

"Patience, patience," he teetered, testing how far he could go with Nick.

Watching the two boys go back and forth drove Ange batty. Patience was never a virtue of the women in her family, and as she snatched the file out of Greg's hand, she hopped on the swivel chair and kicked it back, rolling towards the overhead lamp. Reading the results, she heard nothing but silence, staring back at Greg whose mouth was still slack from shock. Breaking the silence was the low humming of Nick's laughter as he slapped Greg on the back of the head. Ange dropped the file down, looked towards the two fellas, and smiled.

"Whoever was smoking that cigarette touched that bill."

"That's what I was trying to say," groaned Greg.

"Whoever touched that bill," Ange smiled, "likes to keep their hair in place."

Nick grabbed the file. Scanning the findings, he noticed the list of polymers that could have only been one thing. Hair gel. So our perp, Nick rubbed his own head, has got some head on his shoulders.

"Our perp lost their head out there," Ange quipped, "when they dropped that butt."

"And when they dropped that cigarette," Nick chimed in, "they dropped the ball."

Men, Ange thought to herself, they can always relate something to sports. Greg told them that he was still running the DNA off the cigarette through CODIS. Until then, they waited for Brass to report back to them on their victim's latest whereabouts. Doc Robbins was busy down in the morgue and their victim wasn't anywhere near the top of the list. Ange's stomach growled and Nick looked at her wide-eyed.

"How about some dinner while we wait," he offered.

Greg jumped at the mention of food and immediately claimed dibs on the passenger seat. Unbeknownst to him, Ange was ready to veto his claim. Anyone knows, that you can't call shotgun until you're outside of the building.


	8. Boys Will Be Boys

Chapter 8-Boys Will Be Boys

Ange swallowed the last of her Cobb salad, swallowed down the rest of her iced tea and threw the tip on the table. Nick and Greg fought over the bill; the least she could do was tip their waitress. As they made their way back to Nick's SUV, his cell went off.

"Brass," Nick alerted them.

He spoke to Brass as they drove back to the crime lab. Dropping Greg off, he told him to go see if Doc Robbins got to their body yet and to call either of them if something came up. In the meantime, he and Ange were heading over to the victim's mother's house.

"Brass is with the mother right now," Nick informed Ange as he headed down the interstate.

"Upperclass Jewish family," Nick went on, "son didn't come home after synagogue."

"You thinkin' this was racially motivated," she butted in, "it was a brutal way to go."

"Not necessarily," Nick offered, "there weren't any epitaphs or markings near or around the body to suggest a hate crime."

"We'll learn more when we talk to the mother," Nick sounded hopeful.

Ange wasn't so sure. Working in New York, Ange knew a fair amount of details when it came to the Jewish community. They weren't fond of letting their business get spread over the airwaves, let alone, speak ill of their own. If her son was into something dangerous, like drugs or something minor as in gambling, she'd turn to the rabbi first for help before she turned to the police.

Meeting with Mrs. Cohen, the affluent wife of a spinal surgeon, they came to the same conclusion; Elijah Cohen, was top in his class at the University of Nevada, played varsity basketball as a sophomore, and according to his mother, 'never ingested anything illegal'. Asking first if they could search his room, the mother obliged, stating neither she nor her son had anything to hide. Upon entering his room, Nick and Ange surveyed it, each taking a separate side. His room was immaculate, textbooks stacked neatly on his desk, his laptop, off, sat center on his desk. Folded tshirts, socks, and the like, were laid atop his already made bed, courtesy of his mother, no doubt. Everything they examined was neat and orderly, which begged the question, what teenage boy didn't have something to hide? Nick opened a gym bag, that lay in plain sight, and rummaged through it. Holding up a small dime sized bag, he whistled.

"How much you want to bet this isn't baby powder," he flaunted the baggy.

"Let's run some tests," Ange knelt beside Nick, "see what the baggy has to tell us."

"If the TOX screen is ready," Nick interjected, "and Elijah's bloodstream shows drugs…" he trailed off.

"…his mother never knew her son at all." Ange finished his thought.

Back at the lab, results were at their disposal. Greg spoke to Doc Robbins, who reiterated the victim's COD was a gunshot wound to the forehead; impressions left from the nozzle of the weapon, indicated burned gunpowder, which left a remarkable impression on Elijah's skin. Blood splatter was in a diffused pattern, leaving traces on the victims' cheekbones and chest. Rigor mortis is generalized; lividity is dorsal, with the usual coloring and blanching of the skin. TOX came back positive for cocaine; victim's nasal passages indicated infrequent use. TOX also indicated that the victim was taking antacids, typical for a first time user. Running tests on the powdered substance found in the victim's gym bag also tested positive for cocaine; baking soda, ether, and ammonia were found in the breakdown analysis, along with powdered sugar. Bullet retrieved which was lodged between the occipital bone, was sent to ballistics. Taking a stab at the size of the bullet, the doctor suggested a .22 caliber.

With information gathered, the team knew that they had a possible weapon and motive. DNA from the cigarette butt got a positive hit off CODIS; Jonas Yaits, 34, misdemeanor assault, distribution of illegal substances, multiple stints in and out of jail, skipped out on most recent court hearing. As they encircled the residence of Yaits, search and seizure of the resident and his belongings left the team with the .22 used to murder Elijah Cohen, multiple bags of dope, and as the suspect spit in Nick's face, Ange collected the DNA to run against the cigarette butt, to tie ends. Swabbing the nose of the .22, the tip of cotton turned a bright red, indicative of blood. Skimming through his bathroom, Greg walked out with a container of Hair Glue, pretty expensive hair gel, that he 'knew would match up with the trace found on the bill they found in their vic's hand'. Interrogation went as smooth as it could, with Brass taking the lead, assisted by Greg and Nick. Ange finished the paper work as she watched their suspect be hauled off by Officers Snyder and Collins. Elijah accused Yaits of selling him 'subpar cocaine', demanded his money back, a struggle ensued, which led Yaits to shoot Elijah head on. Yaits made off with the weapon and the money, which was found in the search of his apartment. As Ange sealed their case file, she double-checked their findings, along with a print off Yait's workboot, size 11, a perfect match to the shoe prints found near the bushes and the body. Shaking her head, she headed to the break room to find Nick and Warrick tossing a football back and forth.

"Warrick's stuck," Nick alerted her, "they've reached a standstill in the case."

Holding up her hands to receive the ball, Warrick tossed it to her. Who needed to sleep anyways, she smirked. The three of them sat in the break room tossing the ball back and forth for over an hour when Ange asked Warrick to describe the ligature markings found on his victim. Showing her the pics, Ange scrutinized over them, racking her brain for a possible match. Warrick explained the victim was going to nursing school at night, found beaten and gagged outside of the university. Closing in on the victim's wrist, a faint uppercase A could be seen imprinted into the skin.

"Ace bandages," she tapped at the photo, "I'd check to see if any are missing. Hospitals have an inventory they mark when supplies are used; makes for a quick order."

"Now that you mention it," Warrick got a newfound burst of energy, "Catherine found fibers on the vic's wrists and ankles."

"If we can match those to the bandages used at the hospital…"

"Get goin'," Ange urged him, "now that that's solved, I can finally get the hell outta here."

"Like we twisted your arm, kiddo," Warrick laughed, "I owe you one."

Ange knew he was right. She usually jumped at the chance to work on her days off; being idle wasn't good for her. It wasn't the leaving that bothered her, it was the loneliness and the strangeness of the new town that kept her from leaving. Ever since she left New York, she felt she needed to look over her shoulder, even though she knew that part of her life was over. But you never knew, she chided herself, what or who was lurking around every corner. Knowing Nick had tomorrow off as well, she asked if he wanted to swing by her place for a beer and some Play Station.

"We need to finish up that game of Madden we had goin' on," she teased.

"If I remember correctly," she playfully batted his arm, "my Giants were kickin' your ass."

"You're on," he opened the door, "just let me get my stuff."


	9. That's Ma'boy

Chapter 9-That's Ma'boy

Nick followed Ange back to her condominium, parked in visitor's and waited for her to get out of her SUV. The path they took to her condo was well lit, the shrubbery was pristine, and the walkways were freshly cleansed, no doubt by a power washer. Nick had only been to her place twice since she had joined the team; once to pick her up for work and the second time to help her move in some boxes, where that turned into a full on competition, via a game console. That was the first thing Ange unpacked when she arrived in Las Vegas. Her entertainment system was fully loaded, almost masculine like, loaded with game consoles, a DVD player, and a 12 disc CD changer. TV and video games, however childlike people accused them of being, were Ange's break from reality. Her brother consoled her after her nightmares with video games, where they would play anything from the latest sports games to the occasional 'girly' game he picked up so she was 'well-rounded'.

Ange unlocked her front door, flipped on the lights in the hallway, in addition to the one already lit on her curio stand, ushered Nick in and locked the door behind them. Nick noticed that Ange had three sets of locks on her door and as he watched her meticulously lock and unlock each one three times, and pull on the handle to make sure they were indeed locked, he found himself intrigued. Turning to face him, she blushed.

"O.C.D.," she laughed

He didn't pry, but he had grown to know when Ange was hiding something, but left that for another day. When she's ready, he lectured himself, when she trusts me like she does Warrick. Kicking himself mentally, he berated himself for being jealous of Warrick's relationship with Ange. They were just friends. So are we, he answered himself, aren't we?

"I'm gonna jump in the shower real quick," he heard her as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom.

"Help ya'self to the fridge," she called out. He was about to head into her kitchen when he heard her shout an 'oh shit' and heard her barefeet hitting off the wooden floor.

"I just forgot," she was out of breath as she flicked on the light switch to the kitchen.

"It's better if I got ya what ya needed," she pointed to the mess of boxes and bubble wrap that lined her kitchen floor.

"When are you going to settle in," Nick laughed as he placed a few boxes atop one another to clear a pathway.

"I'm gettin' there," she opened the fridge. Scanning the shelves, she realized she didn't have much to offer besides beer, iced tea and a few oranges. I really need to go grocery shopping she shook her head. Handing Nick a cold brew, she threw him an orange and pointed to a drawer.

"Cut me a slice and trow it in a glass for me, would ya?"

He watched her walk back towards her bedroom and shook his head. Calling down the long hallway, he asked her if she could use a little manual labor.

"Yeah, ya know anybody willin' and able," she was busily moving around her room.

"Well, I _am_ off tomorrow," he reminded her.

"Sounds like a plan," she called back; he could hear the shower turn on.

Opening her fridge, he laughed. She's a piece of work, he slammed the door shut. Picking up the phone, he called a Thai restaurant he knew off hand and ordered a couple of noodle dishes. He knew she liked spicy, so he told them to throw in an order of Pad Thai and gave them the address. Ange emerged from her room, her curly hair freshly washed hung on her shoulders, causing a droplet pattern to form on her favorite tshirt from Johns Hopkins.

"So I was thinkin' we need to ord'a somethin'," she plopped herself on the couch.

Rubbing her eyes, she noticed that while she was in the shower, Nick had already started organizing the living room, empty boxes were folded, and packed ones were stacked in the corner. Nick started to chuckle. It was contagious and soon she was laughing along with him.

"You're one of'a kind," she thanked him and pulled out a menu from the same Thai restaurant Nick already called.

"Thai?" she tossed him the takeout menu.

Nick smirked and placed the menu on the table. Telling her that he had already placed an order after looking through her fridge, he reached for the remote and flicked on the TV.

"You know, Ange," he chuckled, "your place lacks, I dunno, a woman's touch."

"I suppose you know a thing or two about that," she teased him.

So it went, as they sat around waiting for their Thai, Nick told Ange about his family, growing up in Texas, sharing a bathroom with his sisters, being under the rather large and disciplined rule of his father and going to mass every Sunday with his mother. Ange offered equal amounts of her past, including the death of her parents, when she was only seven, living with a grandmother who only spoke Italian, and a brother who was going to school and working two jobs just to keep his sister close. As she finished talking about her brother, her cell phone rang.

"Speak of the devil," she flipped open her cell.

"Donnie," she spoke into the phone, "your ears ringin' or somethin'?"

Nick sat in awe as he watched Ange speak to her brother. She laughed at something he said and tears were building in the corners of her eyes. Not to seem intrusive or obsessive, he was grateful when the doorbell rang. Grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket, he paid the delivery man and closed the door behind him. He heard Ange tell her brother to 'hold up' and she practically collided with him. Walking past him, he watched her go to the front door and once again triple lock the door, pull on the handle, and turn around satisfied. Or was it relief? Giving Nick a small smile, she grabbed a few napkins off the counter and they dug into the sweet, spicy, noodles and chicken. He watched and smiled as Ange talked with her mouth full and threw her hands around feverishly as she joked with her brother.

"Listen Donnie," she said after swallowing a mouthful of Pad Thai, "I've got company."

Apologizing, she said for the second time that night, she got quiet when Nick questioned her.

"Wait," he suspiciously stated, "that's your brother who's been calling you on the job?"

"Yeah, Nick," she had a glint in her eye, "who'd ya think it was?"

Nick muttered, 'you have got to be kidding me', and laughed at his boyish jealousy. He mimicked a sentiment she had said earlier, nailing the accent on the head.

"That's ma'boy."

"Yeah…Donnie," she looked clueless as Nick continued to chuckle, "ma'brother."


	10. Don't Sound Italian

Thanks for the reviews! I hope that more people will read up on Ange and leave me such awesome ones! If you don't see your review, it's because I had a bit of trouble editing and accidentally erased the whole story.

Chapter 10-Don't Sound Italian to Me

Two more months in and Ange finally felt 'at home'. Glancing around her condo, she walked, one foot in front of the other, memorizing her setup. Starting at her front door, she made her way to the front hall's curio table; along its side was a Louisville slugger, autographed by Giambi. She made her way into her living room and as she scanned the room, she smiled as her eyes landed on two more baseball bats, each hung with care, on either side of her entertainment center. Her most valuable piece of wood was an aged slugger, used by the great Yogi Berra, caught in the stands by her grandfather who handed it down to her father. Donnie was the rightful owner of the bat, bequeathed to him through their father's last will and testament, but he knew how much his sister treasured that bat. 'The history' she told him, 'that bat has history'.

A knock came at her front door. 'About time Warrick,' she mumbled as she grabbed her keys and opened the door. To her amazement, the area was abandoned; Warrick wasn't there. Stepping out of her doorway, she scanned the area for her partner but saw neither him nor his SUV out front. Curious, she looked at her watch and realized he was running late. As she stepped back to her doorway, something stuck to the heel of her boot. Raising her leg to her, she grabbed the object by its corner. In her hand, was an off-white envelope with just her last name on it. Only, it didn't say Flack, her 'Americanized' name; in an odd script, it read 'Flachanelli'. Fear gripped her chest as she stared at the envelope. Turning to look over her shoulder once more, she scanned the area and hurried back into her condo. Shutting the door, she locked up, and with her back pressed up against the cool wood, slid down to the floor where she stared at the envelope. She never opened it; she made sure to touch only the edges, not to tamper with it. Catching her breath, she pulled out her cell phone and called the only person she knew would be able to talk her down.

"Mac," her voice shook with terror, "he's found me."

An hour later, still sitting on the carpeted floor of her entranceway, she was talking to Mac, who was trying his hardest to reassure her that 'he couldn't have found her'. 'He', was rotting away in prison along with the other stalkers, miscreants, and his favorite, 'poor sons'a'bitches'.

"Mac," she wasn't convinced, "what if he got out, played the system, got early parole?"

"Please, Mac," she begged him, "it's the same M.O. Single envelope, my last name…my family hasn't gone by that in ages."

Mac told her he'd double check on the status of the prisoner and get back to her. He had her brother on the other line, as did she, on speakerphone from her landline. Donnie's voice came out over the speaker.

"We'll get right on it," she could hear him shuffling papers, "you stay put."

"Donnie," she called out to the phone base, "you ain't the boss of me."

"Do it," he silenced her as he clicked the receiver down on the cradle.

"You heard your brotha," Mac told her over the phone, "I'm going to call Grissom."

"He already called," Ange sighed, "twice. I had to send Warrick away."

"Now why," Mac was on lecture mode, "would you do an asinine thing like that?"

"I don't want to involve them, Mac."

"You should'a thought about that before you transferred."

"I'll call you in fifteen," she could hear him take a breath, "pick up. You got me?"

"I got'chu."

Two missed calls from Grissom and a text from Nick. As she was about to hit reply, her phone went off. Warrick, said the banner, and she flipped open her phone with hesitance. He bombarded her with questions, lacing into her for sending him off, guilting her for leaving him stranded to process the scene alone; the verbal berating went on for a long and heated minute when she got a word in.

"Somethin' came up," she shook her head, of all things, that's what she says?

"Something came up, that's kept you from your job," he sighed heavily, not believing a word.

"Ange, what's the deal," his voice was calmer, but he got another call, "hold on a sec, it's Grissom."

Ange knew what was coming and it was too late to back down. Warrick had been her closest confidante here in Sin City, taking her under his wing. He reminded her of Donnie, brazen, yet approachable, determined, yet flexible. She could only imagine what Mac had relayed to Grissom, who in turn began calling his team in one by one. Overanalyzing, as she was prone to do, Ange stood up, dusted off her pants, and made her way to her living room, pulling the long ecru curtains to a close. Warrick's voice, clicked back over, and he was no longer upset, she could hear the worry hanging on every word.

"I'll be there in fifteen to pick you up," he waited for confirmation, "bring the envelope."

The silence during the ride to the crime lab was deafening. Ange kept playing with the stereo system, trying to find something to fill the dead air amongst Warrick and herself. She knew she disappointed him when he knocked on her front door. He offered his hand and guided her to his vehicle. Warrick, too, felt the tension; for once, he didn't know how to solve a problem. Out of his peripheral, he noticed how frail Ange looked. Grissom gave him only a couple details, nothing concrete. Putting his hand atop hers as she tuned the radio, he turned it off completely.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

She turned the envelope over and over in her hands, staring at the handwriting, knowing that it was 'him'. Why hadn't Mac called her back, she wondered. The answer was all too clear; 'he' was out, 'he' had made parole, and 'he' had found her again. She placed the envelope on her lap and Warrick glanced down at it.

"Who's Flachanelli?"

She explained that her great grandfather changed their name to Flack in order to make his family's life easier. The less foreign your name was, the easier it would be to find work. Therefore, the hardworking Flacks, made a life for their children, raising them from the slums of Hells Kitchen, to the East Side where the Flachanelli's were no longer 'foreign'; they were Americanized. A tightly knit family of law enforcing police officers and criminalists.

"Always thought Flack didn't sound Italian," Warrick interjected, "and I knew a lot of Italian women in my day."

Ange found herself laughing, relieved that the tension broke. I'm sure you did, she caught her breath. Her cell began to ring and she saw Mac's name on the screen. Sucking in her breath, she flipped it open, already knowing what he was going to say. She listened as Mac tried his damnedest to sound calm, when all she could hear was his over protectiveness kicking in.

"When Mac?" was all she asked and as he told her 'two months early', she felt her world crumbling down around her. Mac had spoken to Grissom and volunteered his services and the knowledge of the case. He, along with Ange's brother, was taking the next flight out and would arrive shortly. Ange stared out the window as the vehicle slowed to a standstill, idling in the parking lot. Opening her door, she walked side by side with Warrick, who led her into the crime lab. Catherine and Grissom were quietly talking in the hallway, when they arrived. Opening the door to the break room where they had congregated, Nick ran up to Ange.

"Gris filled us in," he put a warm hand on her arm, "how you holding up?"

"It's like déjà vu all over again," she winced, making a poor joke, referencing a famous Yogi Berra quote.

Grissom took Ange aside, excusing himself to Nick, and guided her to his office.

He pulled out her file and she knew what he was reading. Highlighted, was the reason for transfer. Subtexted, were the events that led up to her request.

"I took you on," he looked up from her file, "knowing the baggage you brought along with you."

"I swore to Mac we'd keep you safe here in Vegas," he smiled warmly, "and that's just what I plan to do."


	11. Reunited

Chapter 11-Reunited

Although Grissom wanted to postpone their cases, he knew Eckley would frown upon it, and they had enough on their plates. He sent Greg and Sara out on the only case they had with Catherine as the lead CSI. An elderly woman, found bludgeoned to death, bound by her own stockings was on the list of priorities. Apparently, it was a robbery gone badly. As Sara and Greg processed the scene and relayed their findings back to the others, Nick and Warrick watched over Ange as she fitfully rested on the couch in the break room. She dreamt of nightmarish images; blurry images, black and white, of body parts, handwritten messages, their words spiraling in front of her. She awoke abruptly, eerily aware of the two men watching her. Wiping her brow, her night sweats apparent, she put on a courageous smile.

"Now that you know my past," she joked, "you'd think you two _wouldn't _be staring at me while I sleep."

"Don't do that," Warrick grimaced.

"Do what?" she sat up straighter, confusion lines rippled on her forehead.

"Make jokes," he stood up and offered her some coffee.

"Gotta agree with Warr there," Nick tossed her three packets of sugar, "this isn't comedy hour."

"Guys, really," she stirred her coffee, too long perhaps, watching the stirrer spin in circles in her mug.

Nick and Warrick stared at her, neither of them smiled. The concern and worry on their faces aged them right in front of her eyes. She didn't need this, she stood up, angered by the looks on their faces.

"Don't look at me like that," her voice quaked, her hands shook.

"I don't want your pity."

"Ange," Nick walked towards her, empathizing with her situation. She hadn't known that he too was a victim of a homicidal stalker. Buried alive, with fire ants, bordering between two choices; wait for his team to find him or take his own life. He hadn't told anyone, until now, but he was close to pulling the trigger. He hadn't felt that weak, that vulnerable, in all his years. He hadn't depended on another, until then.

"So believe me when I say I don't pity your situation," Nick held her close as tears welled in her eyes.

"Oh, man," Warrick watched as his best friend and Ange embraced. He placed a friendly hand on Nick's shoulder as he witnessed his testimony that he was close to taking his own life. Warrick felt helpless as he watched his two friends baring their souls to one another, forming a stronger bond than before. The door opened and Grissom walked in, accompanied by two men. One, average height, was dressed in a navy blue suit, his tie, formally donned, his piercing eyes taking in the scene in front of him. The other man, both younger and taller than the first, smirked as he looked on. His cobalt blue eyes were a dead giveaway that he was the infamous brother from New York. It was as if Warrick was staring at Ange; the two could have been twins.

"Someone ord'a cannoli," he announced himself, alarming both Nick and Ange who were still in a rather warm, yet awkward embrace.

"Donnie!" Ange broke from Nick's arms and ran smack into her brother's.

"Hey'a kiddo," he lifted her up in a bear hug.

Clearing his throat, Ange turned to face a rather somber Mac. He put his arms out and feigned a frown.

"Forgettin' something?"

"Mac," she took his hands, "I could nev'a forget you."

Once everyone was introduced, Mac opened his briefcase and threw three files down on the table. The first one contained the profile of Ange's assailant. 'Bastard', she mumbled. Mac tacked a mug shot up on the corkboard. Introducing the CSI team to a Sam Phillips, age 35, just released after serving only 16 months of a two-year prison term. His was last seen leaving New York out of La Guardia. As of now, Phillips hadn't shown his face.

"Hopefully," Donnie took the file on Phillips, "the bastard left a trail."

"See if we can track his flight."

Grissom offered Captain Jim Brass' number to the detective, reassuring him that Brass would be happy to assist.

Phillip's victims, all in their mid twenties, fit Ange's profile. Tall, athletic, brunettes, with blue eyes, who worked in law enforcement. Two other women, cold cases, were linked to Phillips after their case, but they were never solved.

"Why law enforcement?" interjected Nick.

"He was a victim of sexual abuse," Ange offered, "his motha' was the perpetrator; she was a police officer."

Phillips stalks his victims, Mac continued, preys on those close to them, slowly torturing them until the object of his obsession is vulnerable for his attack. Unfortunately, for Ange, Phillips preyed on her boyfriend at the time, kidnapped him, tortured him, and left incriminating photos and messages for Ange at her apartment. At times, Phillips would leave 'presents'.

"Presents?" Warrick interrupted.

Mac took out a photo Ange had seen one too many times. A close up of a white jewelry box, containing a bloodied index finger, lay on crumpled tissue paper. The index finger of her boyfriend, along with a message that demanded she meet Phillips in person, was the catalyst to entrap Phillips. They went through the rest of the files, each taking an aspect of the case.

"So what do we have to go on," Grissom probed the team.

"This," Ange threw the envelope into the mix, one she purposely put in a sealed ziplock.

Grissom, glove on hand, removed it from its protective bag. He turned the envelope over and examined the flap. Examining it closely, he noticed a stray hair embedded into the seal. He entrusted Nick with the envelope.

"Work on that hair," Grissom nodded, "then run the seal for traces of DNA."

"If we're lucky," he finished, "we'll get a match to Phillips."

"I'll run tests on the letter and envelope once Nick collects that hair," Warrick offered.

"Compare the handwriting to the sample that's in the file."

Mac and Grissom decided to process Ange's condo and its perimeter for anything Phillips may have left. Not wanting Ange to be left alone, Grissom made a call to Brass who was sending over an armed guard to be at their disposal, should she want to leave the building. It was best to keep her friends close and contained. Which may lead Phillips to their lab, Ange volunteered.

"Keep thy friends close," Grissom looked up from his file, "but keep thy enemies closer."

The team dispersed. Nick placed a hand on Ange's shoulder as he and Warrick left to run the tests leaving Grissom alone with three New Yorkers. Grissom sat back, watching the three interact. A family by consequence, Mac sat to Ange's left, guarding her as the surrogate father he was. Her brother flanked her right, talking animatedly with his hands. Talking about the case, interjecting bits and pieces of the life she left behind, a baseball score here, the closing of their favorite pizza parlor there. Ange welcomed the much-needed distractions, but the aching to get back to work tugged at her. As if Sara heard her very thoughts, she came barging through the doors, frantic.

"Ange!" she stopped short as she saw that Ange had company. She had been out on that case with Catherine and Greg that she didn't know that her family from N.Y. had come.

"Oh!" she brought a photo to her chest, "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," Mac offered his hand, "Mac Taylor."

"Don Flack," her brother put out his hand, "Detective."

"Oh geeze," Ange noted he placed a flirtatious smile upon his face and pulled Sara to the side, "what's good?"

"That case Cath and I are working on," Sara put down the photo on the table, "needed your expertise on these markings."

"Cath thought you could use the distraction."

"She did, huh?"

Sara was obviously uncomfortable. She and Ange rarely got along and although she felt compelled to see how she was holding up, her first priority, was, and will always be the case she was working on.

"Listen," Sara sighed, "if you rather not-" but Ange cut her off.

"I'll give them a look."


	12. Runner on First

Chapter 12- Runner on First

Ange laid out the photos, side by side. Enlarged shots of the victim's body showed signs of forced trauma. Bruises, oblong and scattered along the woman's back, arms, and chest, were unique to say the least. Ange organized the photos, separating them into piles. Mac stood to her left as she stood back from the photos to get a better view. Pointing to the photo of the woman's back, Ange asked Mac to hand it to her.

"See these lines here," she pointed to what appeared to be circular impressions, "I've seen these before."

"Where," she threw the photo onto the table, "I have no idea."

"Take your time," Mac urged her, "if anyone can figure this out, it's you."

Her brother Don, stood up, cracked his neck, then his knuckles, and gave his sister a quick peck on the cheek.

"I'm gonna give this Captain Brass a ring," he smiled, "see what Vegas has to offer."

"Right," she squeezed his hand, "play nice."

"When am I not on my best behavior?" her brother smirked.

"I'm just sayin' Donnie," she tilted her head, "this ain't New York."

She watched as her brother walked out of the staff lounge and down the corridor that lead to the parking lot. She turned her attention back to the photos and scanned them more closely. The ridges on the woman's bruises, were oblong, not circular, which meant whatever weapon was used, had the same attributes. Racking her brain for possible weapons, she came up empty.

"If we can decipher the force of impact," she ran a hand through her hair, "I can get a better feel for what I'm looking for."

Mac just nodded. He knew her thought process in and out. He trained her, watched her, and guided her. He never worried that she wouldn't pull through on a case. Like those cases before, he hadn't any doubts now.

"While you go talk to Catherine," he picked up his briefcase, "I'm going to go discuss some things with Gil."

"Hey Mac?" Ange called towards the door he had his hand on.

"Yeah?"

"You'll let me know if you find anything right?"

"Count on it."

Holding the door open for Ange, Mac gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. She walked him to Grissom's office then turned right down the sleek, gray, hallway towards the lab. Pushing open the glass doors, she walked into a plethora of noises. Greg was stirring something in an aqueous solution, the clinging of the metal against the glass, contrasted with the rock music that was being blasted from the radio on the far wall. Sara was tapping a pencil to the beat of the music, staring at Greg as he worked his scientific magic. Ange threw her voice over the music, startling Catherine who was busy cataloguing evidence.

"I see the party's already started!"

"Greg!" Catherine called out, "Lower that will you!"

"What?" Greg looked up from his lab station, shrugging as he smiled at Ange.

"Better listen, Sanders," Ange winked.

"Your wish," he waved his hand as he bowed, "my lady."

Catherine shook her head as Ange approached. Ange couldn't help but laugh. Greg always had a way with the women. She thought he sometimes tried too hard. Shrugging off her thoughts, she spoke with Catherine about the pictures she was examining. Ange took out the two that she was having a problem with and put them on the table. Pointing to the oblong markings, she told Catherine that if they could figure out the impact velocity and study the depth of the contusions, she could narrow her findings. Catherine agreed. She picked up the phone in the lab and dialed Doc Robbins.

"Good timing," Catherine hung up the phone, "he just finished up with our body."

Ange followed Catherine and Greg down to the basement while Sara stayed behind for the results on the DNA swabs. Entering the cold, sterile, mortuary, Doc Robbins was standing over the decedent's body, finalizing his recordings.

"Blunt force trauma to the cranium, back, and upper torso," he pressed the stop button.

"Be done in a minute," he waved them in, and then began to record again.

"Markings on the victim's body indicate that only one weapon was used, splinters were found lodged in the both the women's skull and under her fingernails. Her blood screen tested positive for Ambien, a sleeping aid. It seems she was dosed prior to the beatings."

Pushing the microphone away from his mouth, he turned off the recorder, and removed his goggles. Blood splatter from the autopsy still lingered on his apron and gloved hands. Something he said struck a chord with Ange and she questioned his findings.

"You mentioned splinters," she put on a pair of gloves and lifted the decedent's hand.

The doctor took out a circular Petri dish, handed it to Catherine to examine, while he offered Ange a magnifying glass. Pointing to the woman's nails, imbedded under the skin, were long, splinters. Catherine placed the specimen dish down and watched as Ange removed a splinter. Holding it under the light, Ange noticed the light colored wood.

"I'm going with pine," she dropped it into the dish along with the rest.

"How can you be so sure?" Doc Robbins inquired, already knowing the answer.

"There are two things in the world I am sure of," Ange smiled, "baseball and forensics."

"What does baseball have to do with this case?" Catherine looked from the doctor to Ange.

"Your victim was beaten with a baseball bat," Ange sighed with relief as Doc Robbins nodded in agreement.

"Flack's right," he rested on his cane, "and I'm sure after you run tests, you'll find that it was varnished."

"So, those markings," Catherine pressed Ange.

"I knew I had seen them before," Ange shook her head, "but I couldn't place it, until now."

"Those markings, in this case, were similar to fingerprints," Ange smiled, "age markings on a tree, similar to the pattern on baseball bats."

"Find the bat," Catherine smiled, "find the perp."

"Have Greg run the splinters," Ange suggested, "if all things pan out, it should give you the make and age. That varnish, most likely a lacquer of some sorts, will lead you in the right direction."

"Thanks, Ange," Catherine put a hand on her shoulder, "if there's anything I can do."

"Keep me informed," Ange pursed her lips, "better yet, send me something else to work on."

"We got a runner on first, no outs," Greg raised his eyebrows, "and our lead off batter is none other than aficionado, Ange Flack."

"Let's go, Greg," Ange pushed him out the door as she shook her head back and forth.

"If only my case was going as smoothly as this," she sighed.

"We'll get to the bottom of it," Greg reassured her, "guaranteed."


	13. Knock, Knock

Chapter 13-Knock, Knock

Hours had passed and Ange was getting restless. Grissom and Mac hadn't returned yet from scouring the perimeters they had set up around her condo. Mac had called in to check up on her, hiding his motives by divulging tidbits of information to keep her apprised of the situation. Together, Grissom and Mac had collected a few fingerprints, a smudged shoe print, its heel the only impression that could be used. Ange, frustrated, sighed into the phone.

"There was a knock, Mac," she switched the phone to her other ear, "is it possible you can get a knuckle print?"

"That's a stretch," he responded, with a smile on his lips, "but plausible."

He relayed Ange's suggestion to Grissom whom she could hear in the background. Grissom agreed it was a stretch, but didn't turn down her suggestion. Instead, he took out his brush, dipped the tip into the charcoal dust, and began to fan it over the front of her condo's door. There was a slight impression coming to life in front of his eyes. Whoever knocked had left something behind. Their oils from their skin sealed the abnormal prints. The small, flattened, ridges of what could very well have been a person's knuckles appeared and he photographed them. Drawing a lifting strip from his kit, he collected the print, turned to Mac, and with a tilt of his head, he offered the print. Quoting Hemingway, Grissom smiled.

"We're always lucky, I said and like a fool I did not knock on wood."

Knocking on the wooden ledge, Mac relayed their findings to Ange.

"Even miles away, you're one step ahead of us," he held the print up to the light.

"Now, to find the hand that these knuckles belong to," he started.

"It's something, Mac," she hung up the phone and spoke to no one but the very air that hung around her.

"It's something."

Nick and Warrick had been working on the envelope for most of the evening when they decided to take a break. Warrick exited the building to make a phone call and nodded as Nick suggested that they meet back in fifteen minutes. Nick carefully removed the hair that had been left in the glue of the seal from the Petri dish and put it under the scope. Noticing that it was complete with a skin tag, he crossed his fingers, hoping to get a hit off CODIS. With a sigh of relief, he removed the latex gloves from his hands, double-checked their work, and made way towards the sink. He turned on the faucet, drowning out Ange's entrance. Seeing he was preoccupied, she took advantage of that and sat quietly on one of the swivel chairs. She was twirling a piece of hair when Nick turned around. Noticing that Ange was distracted he gently called out to her.

"Hey," he smiled, "you twirl that any tighter, it'll fall out."

She furrowed her brow and when he pointed to her the hair she was wrapping around her finger, she brushed it aside.

"Bad habit," she wrapped on the table instead.

"Like your O.C.D.?" he questioned her.

"O.C.D.?"

"You know," he leant forward on the table, "locking things three times, counting steps…"

"_That…_," she frowned, realizing she had used that for an excuse, attempted to explain herself.

"Don't worry," he put a hand on hers, "there's always a legitimate reason why people do the things they do."

"I hate it, Nick," she never removed her hand from under his, "looking over my shoulder wondering who's lurking around the corner."

"Who's hiding in your attic," Nick chimed in.

"Hiding in your attic?"

"Remind me to tell you that story," he winced, "after we solve your case."

"That bad, huh?" she smiled, sensing it was something he had yet to get over.

Nick's pager began to go off, and as Ange felt cool air surround her hand, she realized Nick had removed his. Thankful that he was so warm and thoughtful, she watched as he pulled out his cell phone to return the page. Speaking into his cell, he turned his back from Ange.

"Tonight?" Ange watched as he put his hand to his head as if he was thinking.

"Sure," he spoke into the phone, "I'll take care of it."

Snapping his phone shut, he turned to Ange, and smiled broadly.

"I've got bodyguard duty tonight," he pulled her up from her chair.

"Let's get a move on."

"Where are we going?" Ange brushed her hair behind her ear and stopped at the door.

"That was Grissom," Nick gestured with his phone, "your brother's meeting us at my place."

"But your shift isn't over yet," she attempted to stall the inevitable.

"It's over when Grissom says it is," he pushed the door open, "after you."

"I hope you get paid double for babysitting," Ange shook her head.

"Bodyguard," Nick corrected her, flexing his bicep.

"Oh please," she rolled her eyes and walked out of the lab with Nick at her side.


	14. Chopsticks and Quirks

Chapter 14-Chopsticks and Quirks

Ange climbed the stairs to Nick's apartment, but this time, they used the back entrance, as precautionary measures. She had been here before and every time she entered the front door, she felt she was stepping backward in time. Part of her felt as if she was time warped back to her earlier college years. The remaining part of her, felt at home. However odd that may have seemed. Nick's home was your typical bachelor's residence; dark wooden bookshelves, a glass coffee table, and a small eat in kitchen. However, trophies, sports memorabilia, and old family photos lined his bookshelves and little pieces he had collected over the years donned the nooks and crannies of his apartment. Ange's favorite aspect of his place was the large area rug, with an oversized emerald green T, that represented Nick's hometown and Texas University. She liked that no matter where Nick was, he had a piece of home with him. As Nick ushered her in, his cell phone went off. Answering it on the second ring, he walked back towards the door they had just entered, and unlocked it. Ange's brother, Don, was waiting; his cell phone awkwardly placed between his cheek and his shoulder as he balanced take out bags with one hand and a duffel bag with another.

"Here man," Nick offered to lighten his load, "let me take those."

His one hand free now from the take out, Donnie let the phone slip into his hand, which he caught with one fluid movement and shut it closed.

"Appreciate it," he briskly walked down the corridor only after he locked the door and peered through the blinds that looked out and down the steps.

"Ange raved about that Thai place," his voice echoed off the walls as he made his way towards the living room.

"Hey Donnie," Ange greeted him, walking over to give him a light peck on the cheek.

"Hey ya'self," Donnie handed her the duffel bag, "thought you may want some of ya things."

"Thanks, another day in these clothes and they'd be walkin'," she rolled her eyes.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Nick gestured as he fanned his nose, "but you could use a shower."

"I'd expect that from him," Ange thrust a finger in Don's direction, "but you?"

Nick simply shrugged his shoulders as he unburdened himself of his side arm. Sliding it into the top drawer of an end table, he turned on one of the small lamps that lit the living area, and walked into the kitchen. Ange pointed down the hall and questioned Nick.

"Bathroom's down…," she trailed off, raising an eyebrow. Nick smiled. That thing she did with her eyebrow would get him every time.

"Down the hall," he pointed, "first door on your right."

"You're a doll," she winked as she made her way to the bathroom, leaving the two men to fend for themselves.

"You thirsty?" Nick opened his fridge, pulling out whatever liquid beverages he had to offer.

"Thanks, Stokes," Donnie grabbed a cola, but not before he commented on how he could really use a good brew.

"Go ahead," Nick offered, "I'll take first watch."

"I got my ordas," he made small talk as he pointed across the way, "what is that, a 36 inch?"

"Flat screen, high def," Nick welcomed Don's interest in his television, "great for sports."

Ange entered at the tail end of the conversation and added her two cents. Telling her brother that Nick had a game console, his bland expression turned ecstatic, as Nick took out all his games for the Play Station. Nick tried his hardest not to stare at Ange, but the way she looked after taking a shower, was making it difficult. She was wearing a pair of teal yoga pants and a white singlet, her baby blue bra straps peeking out and over her shoulder blades. Her hair, still damp, was cascading in waves down her back. She seemed refreshed and that made Nick relieved. She had seemed so tired and morose the past two days that he had begun to notice the dark circles under her eyes. Ange caught him out of the corner of her eye and smiled as if she was reading his mind. Then she unconsciously tucked one bra strap back under her singlet and sat cross-legged on the couch.

"Nothin' like a boys' night in," she jested.

Nick passed her a chilled beer, an orange slice, and a frosted mug. It was second nature to Ange and Nick. They routinely worked together and on their days off would have a pizza night here or go see the latest flick there. They had gotten accustomed to the little quirks of one another, such as their favorite off duty drink, what movies made each other cringe, and what music they wouldn't dare play in their vehicles. Donnie watched in earnest, as Nick appeared to know the little things about his sister that not many people would have noticed. He was pleased to know that his sister had made such a decent amount of friends in the few months that she had been in Las Vegas and that put his mind at ease. As Nick took a swig from a cola, aping Don, he grabbed a few things from the kitchen and sat alongside Ange as she opened the various take out cartons. Donnie grabbed the packets of chopsticks and as he fumbled with his own, Ange took hers, rubbed the sides together to smooth any stray splinters, and popped a few noodles into her mouth. She laughed as she watched her brother struggle and in defeat, throw down his chopsticks.

"Chopsticks are for sissies," he directed towards his sister as he got out of his seat and headed towards the kitchen.

"Hey man," Nick said with a mouthful as he waved his chopsticks around, "watch who you're calling a sissy."

"Ya' right," Don put up his hands, "you have to be a hard headed, tough skinned, man's man to work with my sister and survive."

"Shut up and eat," Ange pushed a carton towards her brother, "you're skin and bones."

"You sound like Ma," Donnie grabbed the carton and attempted to eat directly from it, but his sister gave him one of her infamous looks.

"Look like her too," he grumbled as he shoveled some noodles and shrimp onto a paper plate.

"So who's up for a game?" Nick asked as they finished their dinner.

Ange had already emptied the leftovers into some Tupperware that Nick had in his bottom cabinet and began to take apart the empty cartons, so he could take them to the recycling drop off near the dumpster. The way they worked side by side, as if they had been roommates, made her brother smile as he grabbed another cola from the fridge. Popping the top, he replied that he'd be up for the challenge, as did his sister. In all fairness, they flipped the proverbial coin and Ange wound up having to play winners. Gladly, sat back on the couch and pulled her knees up to her chest as she rested her head on her arm. Watching her brother and Nick go at it in a game of Madden Extreme, she fought off the exhaustion that had begun to creep into her eyelids. After awhile though, the colors of the television began to blend and fade out as her eyelids succumbed to the exhaustion. She felt her body being lifted but didn't fight it. She knew it was her brother, taking her into the guest bedroom. She drifted off to a dreamless sleep for a few hours, but woke to the sound of the door creaking. Jumping up, she flipped on the lamp, and sighed as she watched Nick halt in the doorway.

"Should have taken my room," he apologized, "no squeaky hinges."

"It's okay," Ange lay down on her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Actually, I'm still good to go," he smiled, "your brother on the other hand…"

"He's been running on no sleep since they arrived," Ange sighed, "he never knows when to quit."

"If he's anything like us, he won't quit until you're safe," Nick nodded in her direction.

"They can't keep me holed up like this forever," Ange rolled onto her back and stared up the ceiling.

"I _need_ to work, Nick."

"What you _need,_" he took a pillow and handed it to her, "is rest."

She edged herself closer to the wall and patted the mattress.

"Deal, but only if you talk to me until I fall asleep."

Not knowing if they were breaking any work regulated codes or what not; Nick stood from his Lazy Boy recliner and sat on the edge of the bed. Ange tilted her head, raised her eyebrow, and motioned for him to switch spots with her. He did just that. He rested his back against the wall and Ange threw the pillow up against his legs and lay with her head against the pillow that cushioned his thigh. They talked about their families, they talked about their worst relationships, and they even talked about office romances. Ange found herself drifting off as Nick's voice faded in and out. She was sure he mentioned something about the way her hair smelt and she found herself drifting deeper into a restful slumber with a small smile on her lips.


	15. Basket Case

Chapter 15-Basket Case

The following morning came without incident, which showed on the relaxed faces of both Ange's brother, Donnie, and Nick, alike. However, even as rested as she was, thanks to the warmth and proximity of Nick during the night, Ange was anxious. Her thoughts from the previous night, about _needing_ to get back to work, were top on her list of things to do that day, whether she got the okay, or not. Grissom called to run a few things by Nick and as Ange watched as Nick left the room, she began to pace.

"You ain't gonna win the race that'a way sis," Donnie watched her, his eyes following her from one side of the room to the other.

"Shift's gotta start sooner or later," Ange stopped in her tracks, "and I'm going on assignment."

Donnie looked at her with concern in his eyes, understanding all to well, the need to be active and back to work.

"Fine by me," he shrugged, "but you don't have to answer to me, now do ya?"

"Damn it," she hissed, "Grissom can't keep me locked up forever."

Entering on the endnote of the conversation, Nick snapped his cell into its holder on his hip, and opened the fridge. Just ending his phone call with Grissom, Nick already knew he had every authority to keep her off upcoming cases. However, as Nick suggested to Grissom, _with all due respect_ of course, working came second nature to Ange. If she couldn't keep busy and do what she was born to do, she would become in less than desirable terms, a basket case. _She needs this, Gris_, he insisted. What Gil heard was a plea from one of his CSIs on the behalf of another. He had to honor his passion. Heck, he had to admire _hers_. Nick didn't want to get her hopes up, but he decided he could give her a taste, just to satisfy her hunger.

"Grissom's mulling it over," Nick offered.

"_Mulling_," Ange crinkled her nose, "he would definitely do that."

"What did you say to convince him to think it over," she asked, knowing very well, Nick wasn't as timid as he had illustrated himself to be.

"I told him you were hotheaded," Nick's upper lip curled, "nothing he didn't know already."

"_Har, har_," she plopped herself on the couch, "don't quit your day job."

Donnie and Nick caught one another's eye and shared a quiet laugh at Ange's expense. Donnie smacked a friendly hand on Nick's shoulder as he walked passed.

"She's a pistol, this one," he sat down next to his sister, "you gotta love that about her.

"She's something alright," Nick agreed, secretively admiring her tenacity and the fire she breathed for the things that mattered.

"Are you two finished or what?"

Ange's cell went off and she answered it, grateful that she was distracted by the testosterone that hung densely in the air of Nick's apartment.

"Flack," she habitually answered, "what have you got for me?"

Ange nodded, exasperated tiny agreeable sounds every now and then, and when she closed her phone over, she grinned as if she got away with stealing cookies from the jar.

"Have I told you lately that you're the greatest," she sung into the phone.

"Warrick's got something," she let it sink it, holding it out for the men to grasp.

"Overachiever," Nick hollered into the phone.

"It was worth it, he says," Ange winked, "pulled a double," Ange seemed to relax, "got a few prints off the envelope and that hair you were working on, matched Phillips'."

"Did he get a match to the prints?" Nick inquired.

"He got a match alright," she frowned, "but it wasn't our guy."

"The fingerprints came up in the system," Don interjected, "so that means whoever they belong to has been convicted of some thing or anotha."

"Right," Ange agreed, "Sean Matthews, 19, possession and B&E."

"The kicker?" Ange teased and they were leaning on the edge of their seats.

"He's lives in my complex," she thanked Warrick again and ended the call. She tossed her cell and caught it, "Phillips either is working with or used the poor kid."

"Poor kid, my ass," Don huffed, "I want a go at him."

"Grave shift doesn't start for awhile," Nick reminded them, "so who's up for some good eats and a day out?"

"What do you have in mind," Ange's interest was peaked. It wasn't often that _house arrest_ came with the occasional excursion.

"There's a place I think you may like to check out," Nick left it at that.

"I don't do surprises, Stokes," Ange's smile fell, "tell'm Donnie."

"Whatever it is," Donnie gave Nick the _411_ as he liked to call it, "make sure it isn't a haunted house."

"Last time she got surprised, she gave Dracula 4 stitches and Cyclops a black eye."

"I swear," Nick's eyes glowed, "no one's going to end up in the hospital."

"I'm in," Donnie relinquished, as did Ange.

"Anything's better than sitting in this stuffy apartment all day," Ange teased.

"I didn't hear you complaining last night," Nick jested back, soon, a quick blush came to his cheeks, and he went quiet. _That didn't come out right, _he kicked himself.

"What's that, sis," Donnie's eyes widened, "there isn't any fraternizing amongst the ranks, now is there?"

"How's Stella," she quickly averted the question, which didn't bother her in the sense, that it made her question her feelings for Nick.

"She wanted to come with," Donnie let her avoidance slide, "but Mac left her in charge of the others."

"She misses havin' ya around," Donnie offered, "and I quote," he used his fingers to sign air quotations, "I hope that bastard gets what's comin' to him."

"I'm gonna have to give her a call," Ange stated with finality, "maybe after I get a shower."

They all took their time getting ready and were out of the apartment by 2:30. Wherever Nick was taking them, didn't open until 3:00p.m. and they had to drive out of Vegas. Ange was excited, not only for what Nick had planned, but for her upcoming trip back to the crime lab. She was looking forward to having a few words with Grissom. She loved a challenge. Grissom was one of her only worthy adversaries when it came to challenges.


	16. Rubberbands and Sanity

Chapter 16-Rubberbands and Sanity

Nick's surprise neither resulted in cataclysmic proportions nor did it send any unexpecting guests to the infirmary. In fact, Ange appeared more relaxed than she had been the past few days. It so happened, that Nick's surprise involved a trip to the _Guinness World Records Museum. _Spending time with Ange, Nick learned a few rare things about her; she was an avid Yankee fan and sports aficionado, she had a love for video games, and the one thing that stuck out in his mind, was her fascination with rubber band balls. He let his mind wander back to an early time where he found himself helping her unpack and a rubber band ball, about the size of softball, rolled out of a box of knick-knacks and other memorabilia. As it bounced, down her wooden hallway, Nick recalled watching as Ange quickly scooped it up, checking for any broken bands. She shrugged her shoulders as she caught Nick's questioning eyes and simply stated that _they kept her sane and focused. _What better way to keep her focused and of sound body and mind than to take her to an exhibit that outdid her very own collection of rubber band balls. It was a success. After all, it didn't take much to please Ange. She was a simple woman, which she displayed in her style of clothing, her rare, but few pieces of standard jewelry, and her low maintenance sense of style. Donnie especially enjoyed the_World's Tallest Man _exhibit, seeing how he was proud of his inherited statuesque figure. Nick simply enjoyed taking Ange's mind off the inevitable, even if it was only for a short amount of time. As they drove back, the sun began to set, signaling the imminent shift change.

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As they each got into their individual vehicles, they followed one another back to the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Ange threw in a favorite mixed CD, opened her sunroof, and smiled as she recalled Nick's expression as he escorted her through the rubber band exhibit. _He always knows just what I need_, her words were simple, just honest, and she seemed slightly apprehensive to allow those feelings to linger. Her life was in danger. She couldn't afford to bring anyone else into that mix of disaster. She wouldn't allow herself to get closer, she had already gotten too close, and it was already too late to back out. Mac had told her so and she knew he was right. He was _always_ right. Before she knew it, they had arrived at the lab, and were inside the break room chatting with their fellow coworkers, sans Warrick. Eckeley had approved his time off for pulling a much needed and profitable double.

Grissom walked in, their assignments in hand, and as he scanned the room, his eyes fell on Ange. He hadn't expected her to be there today, yet he knew she couldn't resist. _Nicky was right_, he half smiled to himself, and simply nodded as Ange locked eyes with him. _She was stubborn yet determined and that could go either way. _Before handing out their assignments, he summoned Ange towards him with a quick tilt of his head as he pointed at the door. She was quick to rise and was out the door before he could speak. She turned to give Nick a quick wink and he groaned.

"What's that about?" Sara inquired, more interested in his demeanor than why Grissom and Ange had left.

"Grissom has _no_ idea what he's getting himself into," Nick shook his head and laughed as Donnie grunted an agreement.

"Oh to be a fly on that wall," Catherine jested.

"I've been a firsthand witness to my sista's stubbornness," Don chimed in, "believe me, you _don't_wanna be in there."

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As Grissom closed his office door, he offered Ange a seat, but she declined. She felt more confident if she was standing for this. Grissom wouldn't budge. He already knew she had won the argument long before it had been initiated, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of looking down on him as they spoke.

"Sit down, Flack."

"Sittin'," she mumbled, her confidence slowly dwindling.

"I spoke to Nick," Grissom began, but was cut off by Ange.

"I swear I wasn't a part of that."

"So it's not true you want to be back in the field?" Grissom smiled, knowing he had her.

"Well,_that_," she sat back, her frame rigid, "I _have_to work, Grissom."

"If you can give me one good reason why I should rescind my decision to allow you back to work," Grissom's tone was serious, "I shall."

Ange didn't take time to think, she spoke quickly, honestly, and was straight to the point,

"Because if you don't, I'll go at it on my own."

Grissom took a moment to let her words settle. He had discussed earlier with Mac to what lengths she would go to get her hands back into the dusting powder, so to speak, and Grissom had no doubts in her willingness to take matters into her own hands. Mac had reassured him that while her stubbornness left something to be desired, the outcome of her work was always her best. She never left a rock unturned, a surface unprinted, or a fiber left unraveled and unknown. She rather go _at it on her own_ than bring others in her life towards the darkened light of danger. Grissom tapped his pencil on his desk, slowly in sync with the ticking of the clock behind his head. Sensing he had let her sit in desperation long enough, he spoke.

"Good."

"Good?" Ange squinted as her brows furrowed.

"I have the perfect case," he uprooted himself and headed for the door, "you coming?"

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They witnessed Ange's transformation in the way she walked back into the break room that she had gotten her chance at a case. Catherine and Don exchanged a tight smile between the two of them and Nick raised his eyebrows towards Sara. He mouthed,

"Told you."

"Good for you," Sara said out of character and she pushed out a chair towards Ange.

"Okay, if we're all finished here," Grissom silenced them, "we've got something we haven't seen before."

"It's going to take all of us," he scanned the room, "except for you, Catherine."

"Let me guess," she ran a hand through her hair, securing it behind her ear, "I get the honor of working on Phillips."

"Right," Grissom smiled, "along with Mac here."

"You're in good hands," Ange offered, "Mac's an excellent CSI."

"I don't have any doubts," Catherine's voice dripped with flirtation, as Mac just smiled.

"Okay, so Cath," Grissom cleared his throat, "finish working on that envelope, see if there's anything we missed, and I'll have Brass round up that suspect."

"I'm already ahead of you," Don announced, "Brass is bringing him in a half an' hour."

"So what's this mystery case?" Sara asked.

"We've got a DB out in the desert," Grissom's eyes were wide.

"What's so mysterious about a dead body in the desert?" Nick asked everyone.

"Word in the lab is that it's animal related."

Eyes turned to Greg, who had been silent for most of the time, observing, as he was known to do.

"An animal attacked our vic?" Ange was excited, the only animals she had come in contact with in NY were rats.

"Possible multiples," Grissom nodded.

"Well, what are we waiting for," Ange stood up, "let's go clear the scene."

"I'm pretty sure, I get to say that," Nick stated, "I'm the lead on this one."

"Right," Ange blushed, "it's just been _so long_ since I've gotten to say it."

"In due time," Grissom nodded, "we'll see how you do on this case first."

"Catherine," Grissom turned to her, "call if you find anything."

"Will do," Catherine assured him, "I've got you on speed dial."

"I know Warrick's got himself a day off," Grissom semi frowned, "but if you need the extra hands, call him in."

"We'll be fine," Catherine shooed him out, "fill me in on the animal attack when you get back."

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	17. Riddle Me This

Chapter 17-Riddle Me This

As the CSI team traveled across the desert to the victim's house, Ange noticed that the more they drove, the further they left behind the city of Las Vegas. It was quite eerie being so far from civilization. Pondering who would choose to live so far out into the scorching sands of the desert, Ange pulled her SUV up and behind Grissom's and put her shifter into park. As Greg and Nick piled out of Ange's SUV, they unpacked their kits and stood sentry along the fence where Grissom and Sara already stood. Yellow cautionary crime tape was billowing in the dry wind and to Ange's surprise, a tumbleweed somersaulted across the acres of sand. The wind brought an unexpected and stomach turning odor and as she pulled her hand over her mouth, Grissom smiled.

"Ahh, the country life," he chuckled as the city girl steadied her stomach and followed the rest of the team into the house. Brass was standing at the door to a ranch styled home. The screen to the door was torn apart, along with a window to their left. Its screen too, had a large hole ripped into its frame. Brass flipped open his memo pad and greeted the team.

"What do we got?" Nick placed his case down on the termite-infested deck.

"DB's a man by the name of Jasper Murray. Early 40's, divorced, believed in protecting the endangered. Opened up this wild life preserve back in '98. Appears to have been mauled to death."

"Spent his life protecting the one thing he couldn't protect himself against."

"Nature of the beast, Nick," Grissom lifted an eyebrow as he did when he proffered pearls of wisdom to his team.

"David's inside," Brass pushed open the door, "he'll have more for you, I'm sure."

Nick followed Brass inside, as Sara and Ange began to photo log the entrance for evidence. Grissom followed Nick inside and left Greg to gather evidence along the entrance as well. As Ange photographed the front screen, she noticed a stray hair caught in the torn edge. She reached into her kit for her tweezers and a small envelope, carefully lifted the hair, and placed it into the packet. Sealing it, she marked it as an unknown hair, with the case number and placed it into her kit. To her right, Ange watched as Greg collected random feces samples.

"Shitty way to spend your day, huh Sanders?"

"You can do better than that, Flack," he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"I can, can't I," she winked as she knelt and recovered another hair, this time, from a bundle that was encased in one of Greg's samples. Appeared that Murray's animals turned on one another as they were left unattended. Nature of the beast, indeed, Ange thought to herself.

"You are what you eat," she made a disgusted face and turned to Sara.

"I see why you're a vegetarian."

"Let's head on into the house," Sara suggested, "I'm just about finished up with this area."

They entered the one level home as various odors greeted their nostrils. Feces, urine, the decaying body of the home's owner, not to mention smells, some of them couldn't even register. Ange and Sara started in the kitchen as Greg headed off to the living room where Jasper Murray's body had been found. The kitchen was overrun with dirty plates; insects aplenty to appease Grissom hovered over the kitchen. Stagnant waters filled the dual sink, mildew coated the top in small, circular, pustules. A few muddied footprints led from the doorway to the living room and back out. Suggesting that they may have belonged to the victim, Sara catalogued them for evidence.

"This place is a zoo," Sara said in between shots, "no pun intended."

Sara crouched down to lift a footprint and as she was writing down the size, she dropped her pen. She watched down the hall and then looked over at Ange. Bringing her fingers to her mouth, she mimed something unusual, and made an awful face.

"Are you having a seizure?"

"Rats," Sara threw down her hands and pointed down the hall, "I counted three, large, rats."

"This is the sign for rats," Ange demonstrated, signing for Sara.

"I was close," Sara laughed as Grissom entered the kitchen.

"You sign?" he asked Ange using his hands and she replied, no words were exchanged.

"Yes," she shook her closed fist down and up, "I learned a few years back."

Sara watched as Grissom and Ange held a wordless conversation in awe. Sara couldn't pick up on the details of the conversation, but as she watched Ange's lips, she thought she saw her form the word_boyfriend._As it was, Ange was explaining to Grissom how her boyfriend for two years was deaf and the victim of her stalker. Cutting off one of his fingers hindered him from signing well. Losing his whole hand, later on, left him suicidal. Grissom, signing an apology for her losses, placed a hand on her shoulder and left the room.

"What was that all about?" Nick's voice tore through the silence and startled them.

"Nothing," Ange's voice was mellow, yet a trace of sadness hinted at the word.

"Get anything off the vic?" Ange recovered, standing to follow Nick to the living room.

"Multiple claw markings, teeth as well," Nick pointed to his log, "seems our vic was the main course."

"Who were the guests?"

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As Nick led Ange outside to the penned area, he pointed a finger towards a doghouse. Insisting she be careful, he filled her in on the details of the furry beast that lived inside. A native wolf to the Nevada area, the white and black furred female wolf was nursing three pups. Low growls emitted from the doghouse, warned them to stay back.

"Blood pools," Nick pointed to the entrance of the doghouse, "trail leads from the living room all the way out here."

"She's a wild thing," Ange frowned, "man's best friend turned?"

"That's what we're going to have to look into."

"Over there," Nick motioned towards another area that was fenced in, "homes two Ocelots."

"Aren't they illegal?"

"Endangered as well," Nick nodded, "seems our vic bought them from a pet shop down the strip, to save them from becoming someone's pets."

"Too bad he won't get that humanitarian award," Ange shook her head.

"Inside," Nick read off his notes, "were three Albino cobras, six long haired rats, and you won't believe this," he grinned, a small dimple residing in his cheek.

"Try me."

"A bald American Eagle."

"Hey Nick," came David's voice from the house, "there's something you're going to have to see."

"Be there in a sec," Nick shouted, "I want to collect some of these blood samples."

"I can do it, Nick," Ange squatted and had already taken out a large q-tip from her kit and was about to swab the blood pool just outside the wolf's lair. Low growls silenced the feeding pups as Ange worked the area.

"I have no doubts in your abilities," Nick knelt down next to her, "just needed a bit of fresh air actually."

"The smell's awful in there."

Nodding that she concurred, she handed Nick a few cotton swabs and together they tested the trail of blood spatter leading away from the house. As Ange held out the sample towards Nick, he squeezed a few drops of Phenolphthalein onto the swab and it turned bright red, indicating that their findings were indeed human blood. Making sure to gather swabs from each blood spatter pattern, all their findings were conclusive. They all tested positive for human blood; most likely, the victim's. As they sealed the last of their swabs into a plastic tube, they headed back into the house, towards the living room.

"What's up, Dave?" Nick put on a pair of new gloves and squatted next to David the M.E.

"There's something you ought to see on the victim's neck," David pointed to what remained of Jasper Murray's neck.

"If it weren't for his head still attached, I wouldn't have guessed_that_ for the neck," Ange touched the shredded muscles of the victim's neck after she too, put on fresh gloves.

"See, here," David separated a two-inch deep slash in the victim's neck, "I may have found the C.O.D."

"I thought C.O.D. was an animal attack," Ange questioned David.

"So did I, until my fingers stumbled upon this," he grabbed her hand and placed the tip of her finger into the victim's neck.

"Consistent with a bullet hole," Ange pulled her finger out and allowed Nick a go-ahead.

"Turn him over," instructed Nick, "see if there's an exit wound."

David hefted the man's shoulders and turned him over, keeping him elevated while he searched the exterior of his remaining neck. Apart from tears in the throat, there didn't appear to be an exit wound. Shaking his head, David apologized.

"See what we can get once we get him back to the morgue."

"Doc Robbins is going to have a field day with this."

"Someone shot our vic," Nick's eyes lit up, "and then the animals fended for themselves."

"And I think he's our motive," Ange pointed to the caged Eagle that stood as still as a statue, keeping its keen eyes on its deceased owner.

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While the team was out at the crime scene, Catherine and Detective Mac Taylor were busy at the lab, tying ends together. The suspect, whose prints they recovered off the envelope had yet to be detained, so they found themselves inspecting the envelope before they filed it away in evidence. Catherine, wearing appropriate gloves, took the envelope out of its sealed package and laid it on the chrome table.

"Strange there wasn't a note this time," Mac furrowed his brow, examining the envelope with a magnifying glass.

"This Phillips is a real creep, then," Catherine questioned him, awaiting his answer.

"He enjoys games," Mac held the envelope between two gloved fingers, "let's see if there's anything inside of this that will lead us closer to him."

"I've got just the tool," Catherine smiled as she took the envelope and opened the small door to a transparent box. Clipping the envelope, she hung it mid air. It remained suspended as she applied a few drops of a liquid to a disc inside, sealed the door shut, and watched as what appeared to be steam, began to unseal the envelope's corners. Releasing the latch, she pulled out what now appeared to be a flat piece of paper. She once again laid it out on the table. This time, as she ran her fingers over it, she noticed a small indentation near the left corner.

"I think I may have found something," she pulled out a small razor blade from the drawer and began to carefully slice through the thin layer of the envelope.

To their surprise, an even smaller piece of paper lay flattened, with tiny hand written words imprinted on it. The ink remained intact. Putting it under a scope, Catherine read aloud.

_War_rants won't stop me, t_rick_s neither taunt nor delay

Bet one life for another, be sure she will pay.

"I think he's stepped up his game," Catherine's eyes were large with worry.

"I'd say," Mac agreed, "we have to decipher the riddle."

"I know someone who can help," Catherine winked, "although he may get under your skin a bit."

"He's good at what he does," she reassured him, "and he loves games."

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Catherine led Mac to Hodge's lab. Hodges, his nose, deep into his work, didn't notice the two enter. Mac, clearing his throat, snapped Hodges back to attention.

"New York's finest," Hodges held out his right hand, "haven't had the honor," he eyed Catherine as if to say, _nobody ever involves the little man_.

"Detective Taylor," Mac shook his hand, tightly gripping Hodge's own.

"Ah, Hodges," Catherine held up their scrap of paper, "interested in a bit of word play?"

"Word play, did you say?" he carefully lifted the paper from her hands and gently laid it under the scope.

"Riddles," Hodges scoffed, "mind games for the intellectually stunted."

"Are you saying you can't help us?"

"On the contrary," Hodges smiled, "I could do this in my sleep."

"He probably has," Catherine whispered to Mac, who nodded in agreement.

Hodges began to align the words individually up on the computer screen, which projected onto a larger screen, for all to partake. Noting that there would be over thousands of possibilities, words, phrases, and the like, he also noted that for every ten combinations, nine would be pure gibberish, and only one would make sense. As the words and combinations began to scroll across the screen, few words, made any sense, whatsoever. Hodges was right. Using a computer code that he'd been working on, Hodges was able to speed through the nonsensical and as each group of ten words aligned the screen, the actual words were bolded.

"How long's this gonna take?" asked an impatient Mac, his New York paced lifestyle ever so apparent.

"Not as long as you may think," Catherine insisted Hodges to stop as she walked up to the screen.

Pointing to two words, both bolded, both actual words, she turned to Mac and grimaced,

"He's not going after Ange," Catherine pointed to the name on the screen, "he's going after Warrick."

"That's how he operates," Mac shook his head, "I should have paid closer attention."

"He goes after those she is close with," he opened the file on Phillips, "friends, lovers, you name it."

"He won't quit until he's hurt her however he can."

Catherine picked up her cell and pressed number two on her speed dial. Brass, who was at the crime scene, saw that it was Catherine calling, and picked up immediately.

"Brass here, any leads?"

"Brass, you have to get an officer out to Warrick," she quickly breathed into the phone, "we have reason to believe he is Phillip's first target."

"I'll get his location now," Brass hung up and began to dial Warrick's number, only for it to go straight to voicemail. Frustrated, he hung up and dialed the precinct, alerting officers to Warrick's residence and putting an APB out on his vehicle. Approach with caution, he advised, CSI Brown may be in danger.

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Back at the crime scene, as the body was being tagged and bagged, the CSIs packed up their kits and headed away from the house and towards their vehicles. The blazing sun had worn out the CSIs, but they were far from being finished with the shift. They had to travel back to the crime lab to process their findings. As Greg called shotgun, Nick begrudgingly handed over the passenger seat and took the back reluctantly. Chuckling, Ange, sat in the driver's seat and locked her belt into place. Her phone began to ring and she saw that it was Warrick calling. Staring out her windshield, she noticed a frustrated Brass on his own cell phone, but thought nothing of it. _His daughter's probably in trouble again_, she thought to herself.

"How's the day off, Brown?" she laughed into the phone, Warrick's cool and smooth voice greeting her on the other end.

"How's it feel to be back, Flack," he jested.

"I can't even put it into words, War," she sighed, "you sure are missin' out on a whopper of a case, though."

"Yeah, Brass has been callin'," Warrick clicked his tongue, "but I wanted to check in and see how my girl's doin'."

"I'm good, Warrick," she smiled, "believe me."

"Well, don't strain…," Warrick's voice cut out, static came across the airwaves.

"Warrick?" Ange's voice strained, "You're fading out on me…Warrick?"

"Everything alright with our boy?" Nick asked from the backseat.

Ange ignored him with a flip of her hand. Warrick's voice came over, clearer this time.

"My…brakes…," his voice crackled, "Flack!"

The sound of screeching tires and crushing metal came over Ange's cell phone and then the line went dead.

"Warrick!"

Ange jumped out of her vehicle and rushed over to the ever-frustrated Brass. They both had their cell phones in their hands and Brass was currently attempting to redial.

"Warrick," Ange breathlessly murmured, "he's been hurt."

"What?" Brass looked confused, "How do you know?"

"He was just on the line," she shook her phone as if that would bring him back, "he mentioned his brakes then I heard tires…metal…Oh gawd, Brass," Ange sunk to her knees.

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In the middle of a ditch, on one of the lesser traveled highways leading out of the strip, Warrick Brown's SUV lay on its side. Smoke billowed from the crumpled up hood, the glass windows shattered in tiny pieces, lay around Warrick's unconscious body. His bloodied left hand, stretched through the windshield, curved at an ungodly angle, clearly broken. His head, resting on the horn, let out an ear splitting, ever-constant resonance. Two smiling eyes watched through binoculars from the overpass a few feet away. Soon, he thought, she will come.


	18. Ants Marching

Chapter 18 Eyes on the Hill

Brass immediately canceled his call to Warrick Brown and immediately called for reinforcements. He had Catherine and Mac already trying to triangulate the phone call from Warrick's cell phone to Ange's. The seconds bled into minutes, minutes Ange knew were vital to Warrick's safety. She found herself pacing the crime scene, one she was leaving, only to be held back by a force so strong; her bond with Warrick Brown. Her cell vibrated and she gripped it tightly, the reverberations stifling the already trembling fingers and limbs that were her own.

A strong hand wrapped around her shoulder and she knew it was Nick. She turned to face him and he gave her a lopsided smile,

"Catherine's been trying to contact you," he reached for her cell phone and silenced it.

"I know," her voice was grave, almost a whisper, "I just can't, Nick," she shook her head, reached for his hand, squeezed it, grateful for his presence, but still the same, she brushed his hand from her shoulder, walking away.

"This is all my fault."

Catherine had contacted Nick when Ange hadn't answered her numerous calls, nor had she replied to the multitude of text messages from her brother Don and mentor Mac Taylor. Desperate to let the CSIs know that Ange's stalker had set his sights and haunting grasp on one of their own, Catherine needed to know that Ange was alright. Nick watched as she walked towards the edge of the compound, looking over the ridge that led to the valley down below. He was about to make his way towards her, when Grissom called him over.

"They've pinpointed Warrick's location," he informed Nick that while triangulating the signal failed, Sara reminded Brass that all their vehicles were installed with a navigational chip. All the local officers had to do was activate it via the internet and could zoom in on anyone of the CSIs' location.

"Rescue and a bus have been sent out," Grissom noted Nick's grave expression and sighed as he clapped his fatherly hand on the younger CSI's shoulder,

"Warrick's strong, Nick," he nodded, "he'll pull through." Nick swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat as the others began to crowd around Grissom and himself. Having the rest of the team close by made Nick feel better, but knowing his best friend was out there, hurting and alone, slowly crept back into and down into his skin, forming goose bumps. A forewarning that something was still amiss.

Greg, Sara, and David huddled around their leader, curious.

"Anything?" Greg asked Grissom who solemly shook his head in the negative,

"The best we can do is wait, while the police locate him, and get him to the local hospital."

"What are we waiting around here for," Nick asked frustrated, "he's one of us!"

"Nick," Grissom shook his head, "I think it's best if you drive Ange back to the lab, take Greg with you."

Ange had been making her way towards the cluster that was forming around Grissom, knowing he had information regarding Warrick's whereabouts and safety.

"The only person who has the right to decide what is best for me," Ange pointed a trembling finger back into her chest, her heart beating three times the norm, she would have sworn it would have given out any minute, "would be me."

"I'm not going back to the lab until I see for myself that Warrick is okay," she planted her heel into the desert's sand and crossed her arm, "then, I'll go wherever, do whatever you ask of me, Grissom, but not before you do this for me."

"As your supervisor, it is my call, and only mine, Andrea, to do what's best for you," Grissom's brow furrowed at the woman's stubbornness. He didn't want to pull authority on one of his own, especially in a time like this, but he had just gotten off the phone with Detective Mac Taylor who had made it quite clear that Ange's safety came first.

"Then you know what my response to that will be," Ange raised her eyebrows, their lean arches poised, ready to disobey whatever order he was going to summon.

"I've done it once, I'll do it again," she vowed. Brass could see where this standoff would lead and quickly walked his stout self over towards the small crowd.

"Gil," Detective Brass interrupted the tension with a flip of his cell phone, "I need you to put a hold on this case," he pointed back to the zoo of a home, "Warrick is top priority, just got the call."

"Thank you," Ange mouthed to Brass who winked. Then, niggling feelings in Ange's stomach made her raise an eyebrow in question, although her words came out like a hawk cawing,

"You're saying Warrick Brown's well being was just weighed against this guy," she pointed towards the body bag that was lying on the stretcher, the foul odor lingering in the stagnant desert air.

"Ange, no," Sara shot Brass an icy glare while approaching her coworker, "of course not."

"Right, Brass?" Sara's gritty voice laid emphasis on the word right and the only thing he could do was grunt in response.

"Unbelievable!" Flack threw her hands up and was about explode expletives, when an all too familiar hand reached for her again. Twice in the matter of minutes, Nick was to her rescue. On the other hand, was he saving the others from her? She almost had to chuckle haughtily.

Nick grabbed her hand and led her away, trying to coax her into calm, but she was beyond furious. Tears were not coming; she wished they would, to get it over with. She had no idea what state her friend was in, but she knew, that it was Phillips. Because it was his doing, it was also her fault. If she hadn't moved out of New York, away from her problems, if she had just stayed, to face them, to watch him rot in prison; no, she shook her head in frustration, relaying the images to Nick, verbally, it was her fault. She brought Phillips to Las Vegas. Phillips was after her, he had an unusual need for her to suffer, and she knew he wouldn't stop at Warrick. Ange steeled herself and lifted her eyes to Nick.

"This ends tonight."

"Give me your keys," Nick offered his hand, this time, for the metal keys, knowing all too well, with her behind the wheel, he rather take matters into his own hands, even if it was just in the driver's seat. He lifted to fingers to his lips, sucked in an airful, and let out a shrill whistle. Greg's ears pricked up and he turned almost on command. Nick really had him whipped, Ange thought to herself.

"Sanders, let's go," he checked his sidearm and watched as Ange did the same. Whatever they were heading into, the least they could do was be prepared. Greg, albeit new to the scene, followed suit, and Nick clapped him on the shoulder, double pumping his back for emphasis,

"You got the scene when we get there," the way Nick took charge of things, made her realize he was the perfect CSI to take lead. Grissom watched the interaction between the trio and walked with determination towards them. Sara followed suit.

"Nick," Grissom trailed, "it appears you read my mind," he smiled, a solemn smile, "you have lead." He turned his attention towards Ange and she hesitated, but let him have the podium so to speak.

"You, Sara, and Greg will take the scene, while I assist Nick in the lead," he waited for Ange to balk, but she didn't.

"The others will be back at the lab, ready to go with the evidence, just as soon as we collect it all," Grissom waved for the others to start towards their vehicles, but he held up a hand, signaling Ange to wait back with him. While the others were out of range, he turned to the capable investigator and sighed,

"It goes beyond me saying, but you're okay, yes, because if there's a part of you that can't handle what's about to happen, you have to take yourself off the case."

"War's my best friend, while that may color me a bit biased, my job always comes first," she acknowledged, "and priority is to get the bastard who did this, first and foremost."

"Which I'll have no problem, whatsoever, in doing." Ange nodded with finality and walked towards her SUV alongside Grissom. She entered the passenger seat, buckled her belt in place, and slapped her thigh. Nick shifted into gear, pressed his leather-clad foot to the pedal, and the team dispersed in such formation, that if there were an aerial shot, it would look like a colony of ants, marching to claim one of their fallen.


End file.
